Stolen
by Elsie girl
Summary: When two enemies pretend to love each other, for two very different reasons, who has fooled the heart and who has fooled themselves? The Hermione Draco story. Nearly 1,200 positive reviews. 45 chapters. Please R&R!
1. A Perplexing Proposition

**Disclaimer:** I own my hat and own my shoe, but, sadly, Harry, don't own you. So I'm not a poet, but I make no claim to the Harry Potter series, characters, and related stuff. This story was written for entertainment purposes only and no copyright infringement was intended. Please, don't sue.

_A/N: This story has a marriage law in it, but it's a bit diferent. The time picks up near the end of the summer of the trio's 7th year. The situation of things at that point, who's alive and dead, and my take on Snape are either explained later or hinted at here. Everything previous is cannon. Enjoy!_

**Stolen**

**Chapter 1:** A Perplexing Proposition

Indignation. Outrage. Absolute befuddlement! Those were the emotions shifting roughly through Hermione Granger as she sat, calm and reserved, in her seat at the table of the Order of the Phoenix.

It was a seat she was proud to have earned and one she enjoyed sitting in most of the time. It was a seat, however plain and uncomfortable, that made her feel as though she were doing something to avenge the deaths of the ones she'd lost and restore a sense of justice and tranquillity for those left behind. She was fighting to protect those who could not defend themselves. She was finally doing something with her life that she considered to be worth while, as she had told Ron and Harry (in only their fifth year) she wished to do.

She had waited as patiently as she could for an assignment, and it had taken such a long time, she felt. She had practiced, prepared, and studied; believing she was ready for anything. She had looked forward, as much as her companions, to completing her first real task for the Order. She wanted, desperately, to prove herself in the way those sitting around her had.

There was Hagrid, who Dumbledore had trusted with his life, with delivering Harry twice, and even with carrying the Sorcerer's Stone. McGonagall was still as strong a fighter as she was a wise Headmistress. Snape was someone of ultimate sacrifice and greatest self-discipline. Moody held the title of not only "ministry malcontent", but also "renown dark wizard catcher". Of course, Lupin was brilliant, had mastered control over his inner wolf, and stayed strong in the face of all loss. The Weasleys, as a whole, were invaluable in many aspects; from the elder fighters and recruiters, to the twins with their inventions, to even Percy (who had made himself into a rather fine inner-ministry informant). Tonks and Kingsley had taken down several Death Eaters themselves and taught the younger members, such as herself, a lot about dueling. Even Mundungus had served his purpose. It often seemed daunting to compare her few scrapes and escapes with the deeds of those that surrounded her at this table.

Now, she had finally been handed a personal assignment, but it was one she wanted to throw back in their faces. She was not prepared for this! Indeed, she thought, as Lupin's words fell upon her deaf ears, she would rather do any mission-**any** mission- but this one. Indignation. Outrage. Absolute befuddlement!

So came forth some of the last words any of those present expected to hear from Hermione Granger. More than a few of them were outrightly taken aback when she declared, in little more than a whisper, a calm, but decisive: "No."

"No?" Mrs. Weasley popped out.

'What was so hard about understanding that?' She wondered. 'What else could I possible mean other than that? I will not. I refuse. I cannot force myself to purposely delve into that sort of hell. No, sir. No thank you. No.'

However, as this ran through her head quite clearly, what came out was: "No..you...you can't be serious. You aren't really going to ask me to do this, are you?"

"Hermione," began Lupin gently. "I haven't even said what it is you will actually be doing."

"You're going to ask me to marry Draco Malfoy under this new law and manipulate him as he teeters precariously close to coming over to our side. Meanwhile, I am to use this opportunity to find out what I can about the Malfoys and Voldermort," she stated flatly. "Have I got the gist?"

Lupin looked only vaguely surprised while other members, such as Ron and Harry, looked nothing short of appalled.

"The Order would never ask you do something like that Hermione!" Harry protested.

"Never!" shouted Ron with fervor.

Hermione, who would normally feel comforted by her friends show of defense on her behalf, only had her eyes trained on the elder members as she waited for Lupin to confirm, or deny, her worst fears.

"Essentially," he all but sighed.

"What?" all three paretically yelped. Their cries were joined then by others, like Mrs. Weasley and Tonks. Before anyone could present their argument against the atrocity of a plan, however, Snape interrupted insistently.

"I told you Granger lacked both the mental strength and maturity to deal with such a mission," he spat. "This was a waste of time."

'How dare he?' thought Hermione viciously. 'How dare he? She was clever enough, and she had been studying occlumency with Harry and Ron for weeks in addition to plenty of other advanced magic. _She_ was not mature? She, who had fought Death Eaters, reigned in Harry and Ron over the years, and took her parents death- how had Snape himself described it when he did not know she was listening?- "in stride", **she** was not mature?'

But, if she were honest with herself, she had been immature just then, she realized. She had wanted so badly to help, and offered her assistance with practically every task the Order faced, spreading herself thin. Now that she had been asked to do something that may actually help someone with remaining hope-might actually benefit the Order in a way only she could- she was about to shy away from it. Why? Was she really going to be so juvenile as to let a school grudge have such control over her? He had called her a mudblood- so what? He hadn't gone through with killing Dumbledore, had he? Wasn't this the kind of magical cooperation and unity they needed now?

Sure, it was a personal and difficult thing for her to do, and that's why it was her that must do it! After all, wouldn't Lupin rather do anything than work with werewolves? Snape had been forced into killing his mentor for goodness sake's! Wasn't that asking a lot? Furthermore, would his sacrifice be rendered useless, and Malfoy's potential laid to waste, because she was too stubborn, or too afraid, to go through with it? No! She would not let that happen.

Interrupting the argument that had ensued and brought Ron and Snape to their feet, Hermione stood and firmly, responded: "I will, of course, do my best to complete any mission the Order assigns me. Although, how do figure on getting Malfoy to marry me? I am a filthy mudblood after all, and one he saves a particular dislike for at that."

Quickly recovering, as always, Snape responded as they all took their seat again: "Once the law requiring a certain number of muggleborns and pure bloods inter-marriages this year was finally passed- as a pathetic ministry attempt to quell the hatred they feel helped spark and propel the war-Lucius Malfoy immediately petitioned for your hand in marriage-"

"_Lucius_ Malfoy?" she asked, stunned.

"...for his son. Traditional pure-blood marriages are arranged by the parents and, as Draco is not yet of age, his father had to sign for him legally as well."

"Oh, yes." said Hermione, embarrassingly ignorant of the custom. Snape seemed too concentrated on what he was saying to relish that the 'know-it-all' had floundered. He continued.

"Well, I shouldn't say immediately. It was more like immediately after his release from prison. As a matter of fact, it was partly his strong support of the new law that helped get him out. The ministry sees it as further evidence that he's cooperating with them." His tone revealed exactly what he thought of the intelligence level of those making that assumption.

She could hardly say she felt any different. It had been a huge set back to the Order to find that the ministry had set free not just Malfoy, but almost every one of those Death Eaters the Order had captured in the Department of Mysteries. Harry had been particularly furious.

Although now the ministry was at least acknowledging Voldermort's return, little they did seemed to help. In fact, much of their efforts had only complicated things; the new law, for instance, as well as the restrictions placed upon the school for their safety, and their continued emphasis on the tracking down of Voldermort's right-hand man: Sirius Black. She rolled her eyes at the thought, until Snape resumed speaking.

"Draco was outraged when he learned what Lucius had done. Then, his father explained how we could use you to get to Harry while keeping you from helping the Order at the same time. Apparently, if Lucius is to be believed, the Dark Lord was pleased with the plan.

"It was Draco that actually told me ahead of time so that we would have time to find another possible husband. I proposed that, instead, we switch it around on them, and he willingly obliged. He is still acting as though he is dreading it, begging his parents twice a week for them to change their minds, knowing it's safe that they won't."

"He agreed?" she slipped out in undisguised shock.

"Draco holds an especial fascination with you." Snape's dangerously soft tones informed her mysteriously. She wondered what he meant by that, but he left little time for speculation before going on. "He's not thrilled with it, I assure you, but he's willing enough to cooperate for his own reasons."

"Such as?" She ventured.

"First, he hopes it will prove to me that I can trust him. That is a bit of a safety net to him, you see. Not to mention the fact that he doesn't want to marry the alternatives any more than he desires to be bound to you. They're all muggleborns. His role in the arrangement will undoubtedly please his father as well," Here he gave a thoughtful pause, as if trying to insinuate all that might mean. "You should also note that not only would this help the Order and possibly save Draco by bringing him all the way over to our side, but it would also secure your own safety."

"Throwing her to the Malfoy's secures her safety?" Ron demanded.

"Yes. It would blow Lucius' cover should anything happen to her in their care, because the ministry would undoubtedly know immediately. Therefore, you'll be safe. Should the mission become too dangerous I could probably get her out-"

"Probably!?" Ron shouted.

"Anymore good news?" snapped Harry.

"Yes, actually. All that needs to be done is that she must _accept_ Malfoy's proposal of marriage. So, if they extend the engagement, then there may be no need for her to be bound to him for life, nor, fulfil the more delicate of marital duties. That theory holds up only if the final battle comes as soon as is anticipated."

"Bound for life?" wondered Harry aloud.

"Yes. Magical marriages are binding contracts. Have you ever heard of divorced magical couple? The vows are bit different, though." Hermione answered him.

Snape nodded. "And as you would have to marry anyway..."

"It's the most logical choice." She finished for him.

"You're sure he can't hurt her?" Harry asked.

"Not seriously." answered Snape, honestly.

"Well, if you say no, Hermione, you won't hear anything from me, but if not-" Harry shrugged, leaving it up to her.

Ron, on the other hand, was gaping like a fish out of water, but not, she duly noticed, proposing any _other_ plans of action. Since no one else had come to her defense, or been outspoken against it, she assented with a simple nod. Then, in a dream-like state of disbelief, she took her seat once more as they moved on to other topics of Order business.

Try as she might to maintain her usually amount of attention, her mind wandered aimlessly back to fret over the decision she had just been thrust into making.

She would be engaged to Malfoy? The same Malfoy who had hated and harassed her in school? Malfoy that had wished her dead? Malfoy who had a fascination with her? She would be spying, manipulating, coaxing an old enemy for the next few months, while Harry and Ron fought at the front lines. Well, at least she wouldn't have to sleep with him; she hoped. Still, a marriage was a huge weight, but, she reminded herself quickly, they may not actually marry. She may still be free to chose her life after the war, if they both played their cards right.

What had she gotten herself into? How did she go from an awkward, lonely little girl starting fresh at a magical school to a mature young woman clinging to remaining friends and being married off in a war? Was this the potential she held? Was this to be the purpose she was to serve? A Pawn?

Although she had willing followed her friend every step into this, and willingly consented to this new plan, she couldn't help but wonder resentfully if this meant that her bright future had been stolen from her (as her free will had)? What would she have been, she pondered not for the first time, if Voldermort had not returned? An Auror? Minister of Magic? A Healer? A professor at Hogwarts?

She had never been sure, but she was sure of one thing: Mrs. Malfoy was not at all what she had expected. Then again, she had never expected to be attending a school of Witchcraft and Wizardry, or to have made such wonderful friends with Harry and Ron, or for Voldermort to return, or for Dumbledore to die. Was this a tragedy like the latter, or could it be a blessing in disguise? She snorted at the thought, although nothing about it was really funny.

_**A/N:** Thanks for reading! Please leave a review so I know what you think. Feel free to critisize (constructively), compliment, make suggestions, or ask questions. I keep everything in mind and I will reply! New chapter ready and to be posted in a week if anyone likes the story, sooner if there are a lot of requests. All chapters are about this length._


	2. Complications Arise

**Disclaimer:** See previous chapter, please.

_**A/N:** Thank you to everyone who read and a specail thanks to those who reviewed! I hope you like this chapter!_

Stolen

**Chapter 2:** Complications Arise

It was a test. Maybe it was to test what she was really willing to do for the Order. Maybe it was to test her raw abilities. Perhaps, it was to test her trust in the others. It may even be a test of her bravery, but, already, she was afraid. Truthfully, could she face the Malfoy clan with the kind of self-control that would be needed? Could she force herself to care enough to save Draco? Could she even bare to pretend to be in love with him? Truthfully, she didn't know. It may very well be, she told her friends, the very first test Hermione Granger ever failed, and, with her life and another's resting on her passing grade, it was the most important test yet.

Unfortunately, she did not have the usual time to study for this examination, nor were their any books on deceiving the Dark Lord and living a false life alongside your enemy, as Ron pointed out. There was, however, a teacher from who she could take a few notes.

"Bare in mind that you will be working together with Draco. Therefore, it is, obviously, vital to our plans that you refrain from killing each other." Snape began plainly.

"Step one: no murdering Malfoy. Got it."

He narrowed his eyes at her response, but continued: "Malfoy will be giving his father the impression that he is using you, and you will have to play along. However, it is important that you not bend too quickly, even if it makes things harder on you. You must be believable. Your first reaction, when you plan on deceiving, should always be your true feelings."

"Step two: be furious with the Malfoys. That one is easier. Step three: play with Draco. Hmm..."

"As you do this, you will have to earn his trust and take advantage of certain situations that may arise in order to try and talk him into helping you and, eventually, the Order."

"Step four: be a diplomat in spare time."

"Last, but not least, we need you to get any information you can about the Malfoy estate, their plans, or the Dark Lord himself. Information, no matter how simple or seemingly dull, gives us an upper hand. So, Step five: snoop. I think you have enough practice at that." She was surprised by his comment hinting at his knowledge of her earlier school year's, well, extracurricular activities and she slightly blushed.

"Most importantly, master your emotions and use-your-judgement! You will notify the Order of everything going on. We'll decide what role the two of you should play later. Also, they will undoubtedly be trying to win you over. Beware. Their powers of manipulation are not be underestimated. They are almost unequaled and very inconspicious. Indeed, the Dark Lord is so subtle that his pull on your emotions and desires will be nearly undetectable at first. Do not let yourself be sucked in by your insufferable curiosity. In fear of sounding like Mad-Eye, I must tell you, retain constant vigilance. Every ounce of your intellect will be needed here. This is why the task so well suits you. It is a mind game. "

She nodded, taking a mental appraisal of her position. There were certainly many layers to it. It could get confusing. "Sir, how am I supposed to report to the Order without them finding out, if they're going to watching me?"

"Ah, observant. You will use this two way diary, similar to the one Riddle used in your second year. It will appear as though you are writing your thoughts in a harmless journal. Actually, everything you write will appear in it's brother, which will be here at headquarters. If desperately needed, we may send a message to you through it and it will disappear almost instantly. The Malfoys will doubtlessly have a servant read your dairy secretly, so your response must mislead them into thinking that their plans are working, but inside of your reports you must slip clues to us of what is really going on."

"Who will be reading it?" She tried to conceal her concern.

He raised his eyebrows. "It will be read aloud at meetings, like all reports."

"Oh. Yes."

"Are you ready Mrs. Granger?"

"Yes. I think so."

"You better hope so. Time is up. The owls have arrived at the Burrow and are being retrieved as we speak. You must sign in the next 24 hours, as I'm sure you're aware."

Without a word, she pocketed the diary of which he had spoken. It was black, leather bound, with golden edges to the pages and a gold ribbon to mark her place slid inside. Lovely, really, but she eyed with a strong contempt. It was manifestation of her new identity. Mrs. Draco Malfoy-no, his betrothed, she reminded herself. She shuddered at the thought, as if a particularly nasty spider had scuttled down her arm.

As they approached the door to the kitchen where the meeting was to be held, she heard shouting reverberating through the doors. When Snape opened them, the two were met by an very odd sight indeed. It seemed that Mr. Weasley, Lupin, and Harry were arguing heatedly with Ron and Tonks!

"That was completely IDIOTIC!"

"You've RUINED everything! How are we now supposed to explain Hermione accepting the Malfoy proposal?"

"All of our planning-!"

"He was only trying to help! Wouldn't Malfoy expect Ron to send one in as well?"

"He's put his own self in danger! The fool!"

"I will not let that pig get a hold of her!"

"Enough!" shouted Hermione. "What's going on?" she demanded.

Moody answered from the corner in which he leaned: "Your friend has gone and made a proposal for your hand in marriage in his sad little attempt to save you from such an ill fate. The others seem to think his reckless behavior has not only ruined their plan, as it would now not make any sense for you to accept the Malfoy proposal over another.

"They also feel it also makes him a strong target. As Malfoy must secure your hand for his own gain, he'll want to destroy anyone in his path to that goal. They've undoubtedly made arrangements with, or threatened, most of the other pureblood families to keep from complicating things with additional proposals. They'll come after him now. You mark my words."

"Ron?" Hermione questioned breathlessly. He nodded in admittance.

"Hermione you can't really, I mean, I know you don't want-he's Malfoy! God knows what he'll do to you! I just didn't want it to be your only choice." He hung his head a little, and waited for her reply.

"I know you were trying to do the right thing, but you really have complicated things. Moody's right. We can't say I'm forced into the Malfoy's decision by the ministry law if I have another legitimate option. They'll question my motive and then the whole opportunity is gone! It's not your responsibility to save me, Ron."

"Perhaps, we can make Ron withdraw his proposal before Malfoy finds out." Harry offered.

"Too late. Malfoy knows." Moody growled.

"There is another letter." Lupin clarified. "It's a request to have a formal courtship meeting with you, from Malfoy. That only happens when there is a rival to compete with."

"Well, that's out of the question." Hermione snapped.

"I'm afraid there is no question. It's his right to call for a meeting, and you are required to answer all requests of courtship meetings to all suitors." Lupin corrected.

"It's supposed to allow the suitors to each make their offers and intentions clear. In other words, he'll tell you how much gold he's got and such. No doubt his contract entails certain...requirements from you as well," added Snape.

"Requirements?" she echoed attentively.

"Yes. As they no doubt hoped to take you by surprise and, through clever timing and intimidation of other possible suitors, make their contract accepted by default by the ministry, they will have cleverly tacked on several little, er, terms of the engagement."

"Such as?"

"Knowing the Malfoys, probably conditions that put you under their control as much as possible."

She let out a little growl of frustration.

"And, as the decision must be made today," McGonagall elaborated cautiously. "The meeting is set for today as well."

"What? When?"

"Tea. You'll be expected at Malfoy manner in an hour according to this."

Grinding her teeth in concentration, she thought hard on all that had changed in, once again, a few minutes. Things were going to be even more difficult than expected.

"How am I getting there?"

"Portkey."

She nodded, turned on her heel, and left the room.

Moments later, she found herself staring at her own reflection in an upstairs bedroom of Grimmauld place. She had brushed her hair feeling, not for the first time, that her labor was in vain. She checked her freshly cleaned teeth and even applied a little lip gloss over her chapstick along with some tan blush. In fact, it wasn't until she was carefully painting the tips of her eye lashes with that pestilent mascara brush that realized she was trying to look nice and threw it down in frustration with herself.

Draco Malfoy's arrogant handsomeness and the doubtlessly elegance of his home would surely be as intimidating as ever, but damned if she was going to show it!

Just then, there was knock on her door and she collected herself with a deep breath before opening it. Upon spying it was only Harry, however, she dropped her brave facade and grabbed him around the neck. He wrapped his arms patiently around her as they moved into her room. He shut the door behind them, placing a quick silencing charm on it, before she began to talk.

"Oh Harry! I-I- I just can't do this! That bastard may have had a hand in my parents death for all I know-"

"That bastard's father, Hermione," he softly corrected, to her immense surprise. since when did he show pity towards Malfoy?

"We don't judge people by their families, do we? We aren't pureblood snobs after all. And of course you can do this, if you still have to that is. Besides, I may not have asked to marry you, but do you think I'd let anything happen to you?"

She smiled a little and hugged him thankfully, drying her eyes with her sleeve. "Of course not. I trust you all, it's just..."

"I know." He did know of course.

"Harry, do you think Ron-"

"He sent in his proposition before we knew of the plan." He mercifully answered before she could ask.

"Oh." Well, that was something else altogether. There was a rare awkward pause.

"Anyway," Harry told her. "I've been sent to tell you to dress more on the formal side. Apparently, in wizarding custom, a courtship meeting is a big deal."

Her eyes widened. "Not romantic they said," he was quick to reassure her. "It's more like political negotiations."

"Right. Okay, I was wondering..." she steadied herself. "I'll just get ready then."

"Alright." He shut the door quietly, leaving Hermione to stare hopelessly at her own face in the mirror, still wondering, days after she'd been given her mission, if this was all really happening.

Her hair pulled back in a clip that matched her lavender robes, Hermione walked back into the kitchen with no trace of the breakdown she had suffered only moments before. She must have control over he emotions, she recalled Snape's stern advice.

"Ready?" Tonks asked her with a supportive smile. She nodded.

"You'd better get going soon." McGonagall warned.

Snape handed her, without a word of comment, a newspaper she didn't bother to identify. She closed her eyes for only a second as she felt the pull of it rip her from 12 Grimmauld Place, and opened them swiftly as she landed, with a slight stumble, somewhere entirely different.

_**A/N:** Tea with Malfoys anyone? Slight cliff-hanger, I know. So this chapter was pretty much Hermione's reaction and the introduction of a slight problem. Hint: everything disccussed here is important later on. The next chapter should show up in 5-9 days. Thanks for reading and please leave reviews! _


	3. Tea at Malfoy Manor

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter, any related characters, and so on.

_**A/N: **Well, here it is, on time, as promised! Thanks to everyone who read, reviewed, and added my story, or me, to their favorites or alerts. It was very flattering. I hope you enjoy tea with the Malfoys. It's longer than the other chapter with- at last!- a little confrontation, and perhaps even a surprise or two? PLEASE leave a review!_

**Stolen**

**Chapter 3:** Tea At Malfoy Manor

Rather than outside some monstrous mansion, Hermione found herself seated clumsily in a rather lovely, and altogether comfortable, armchair. It was green, but not the kind of green one might expect from a Malfoy. Rather than a deep emerald or Slytherin shade, it was light and soft. It reminded her of fresh summer grass, or leaves that had light pouring in through them.

She observed that she was seated in a classic tea room, whose walls matched the armchair in color. The decorations on the mantel piece, along with the tea tray and china set before her, were a fine, white gold. It was actually quite beautiful. She didn't know what she'd expected; the Slytherin common room perhaps, or some dark, dank medieval castle? However, that was foolish, she reflected. The Malfoys always did have good taste and a sense of style. In fact, as she surveyed the room further, she grimaced as her mind conceived the similarity between room and the family to which it belonged. It was lovely enough in appearance, well groomed, and expensive, like the Malfoy's themselves, but it was only for show.

She turned, instead, to look out of the window which was adorned with massive green curtains. Upon these were embroidered flowers in the same white gold of the tassel and cords. The window faced a gracefully sloping hillside of a brighter green than that of the room she now inhabited. The land rolled on under the light grey clouds until it met a dark wall of stone. The wall, even from there, seemed oppressively thick and high, roughened by the ages it had apparently served as the edge of the Malfoy property.

Even as she stared at the grounds, a pair of predatory birds swooped across the field her eyes were trained upon. She felt an unexplained jolt of excitement. Perhaps it was because these were the only living creatures in sight, and their agile, war-like bodies had taken her so suddenly by surprise. She scolded herself. If only the birds outside surprised her, how was she to get through this meeting? She drew in a calming breath and watched the birds turn sharply in mid air. At that exact moment, she heard the door across the room open, and willed herself to turn her head slowly.

When she did, she was staring at none other than Lucius Malfoy. Lucius? The smallest of gasps escaped her involuntarily as her eyes widened and eye brows shot upwards instinctively.

"Surprised to see me, Miss Granger?" He inquired, his voice as smooth and wicked as ever. Damn. So much for control on her emotions. 'Well, be natural,' she told herself.

"I was expecting your son, Mr. Malfoy. Is it not him you intended me to marry?" She held her breath.

"Obviously. I already have a wife, so to do otherwise would be bigamy. Surely you were aware of that," came his smart reply.

"Naturally." She did not bother to remove the bite from her tones. He took a seat across from her, and casually sipped from his tea cup, indicating that she should do the same.

"In fact," he continued, once she had braved the tea in hopes it wasn't laced with poison (or worse: Veritaserum). "It is proper that I, as head of the Malfoy house, should meet with the head of your house, or legal guardian, for this occasion. As that is obviously impossible, and you are of age, you will speak for yourself in these affairs. However, Miss Granger, I must suggest that you speak carefully." The delicately worded threat did not go unnoticed. Here, he took another sip before placing his cup gingerly down upon the tea tray.

"On that topic, allow me to extend my condolences to you for your terrible loss." His face was tight, and she could almost feel him trying not to smirk.

'I'm sure you're very sorry about that,' Hermione thought angrily, 'Considering you probably had a had in their murder. Bastard.' She bit the inside her mouth as hard as she could, tasting blood, but it kept her from speaking something she knew it would be unwise to voice. Not trusting her expression any more than her mouth, she bent her head to drink again as she forced herself to utter a tight: "Thank you."

She stared into her cup, waiting for him to go on. The queer silence stretched on a while, and she returned her gaze to the window. He followed her eyes.

"Lovely, isn't it? The Manner of Malfoy is centuries old and is elegant in every fashion. After your marriage to my son, you will, of course, become lady of the house. That, in itself, is quite an honor."

She did not start, but rather looked at him solidly following his declaration. When she did not immediately speak, however, he went on.

"It is a man's duty to take care of his family, and the Malfoy's never shy from their duties. You will be taken care of. Apart from the Manor, the Malfoy family also holds a few chalets in France and Germany, used mainly for vacationing. As you have probably assumed, in our ages old fortunate standing we have filled several vaults at Gringotts. You will want for nothing; nor will your children, for that matter. Their places have already been put down in the Hogwarts books. Also, Draco has already been offered a future position, similar to mine, within the ministry. "

Hermione set down her cup. His choice of words was beginning to worry her.

"I feel that is more than enough to entice anyone of good sense," he stated frankly.

"It seems you have assumed too much, sir."

"How is that?" his voice hardened.

"You seem to think that I am both concerned with materialistic possessions and that I am already planning on accepting the proposal. There is another one to consider." He raised an eyebrow and stood slowly, moving to window.

"First, it is not possessions I speak of: it is security. When I heard of Weasley's proposal I feared that you might be young and foolish enough to consider marrying the beggar in the belief of some idealistic fantasy where school girl love is enough to survive. Have you ever been poor, Miss Granger?"

"No, but I doubt you have ample experience there either."

"Quite right. A Malfoy would never allow himself to sink so low. It is a disgrace to see a man have a family he cannot support. You may not mind going without, but tell me, is that what you desire for your children?"

Hermione glanced down at the carpet and studied the paths of the white flowers intertwining on its green surface, matching the curtains. Try as she might to ignore the jibe, it hit her hard. Did she want that life for her children? The Weasleys were happy enough with each other, right? Yes, she answered. Even as she did, unbidden memories flashed through her mind: Ginny crying in the dorm over her hand-me-down clothes, Ron looking abashed and ridiculous in his dress robes, Draco with his new broom, and Harry offering to buy Ron's snacks. She had always heard, and took for granted, that money did not matter. At the same time, did her parents ever have to tell her no because they could not afford to get her what she needed? What would it feel like to do that to her own children?

"Do you think it so noble and loving to let your children go hungry?"

"The Weasley's never let their children go hungry."

"Arthur Weasley works at the ministry, but, tell me, what does Ronald do?"

"Well, he works in the joke shop with his brothers, but only until he goes into Auror training-"

"Think he'll make a good Auror, do you?" She shut her mouth slowly. "As for your second notion," He took his seat again and returned to his emotionless, silk tones. "I have no doubt you'll accept the Malfoy proposal."

"Oh?" she said.

"You would never do anything to increase the danger your friend and his family might be placed under, would you? Even if they had, say, protection from a secret society, why take the chance?"

"Are you threatening them?"

"Do you doubt my loyalties?"

"To the ministry or the Dark Lord?"

"Let us not play politician's games, Miss Granger. Leave it for the ministry. You know who I am. We have faced each other before now. You know what I want. You know what I am capable of, do you not? You will agree to this proposal, under my terms, tonight." Hermione firmly held in her smile from seeping through to her face. Malfoy had unknowingly benefitted her plans.

"How do I know you won't just hand me over to Voldermort?"

"Do not dare to speak his name! He is the Dark Lord, and you'll do good to remember it. As for you, if you pose no immediate threat, and please my son, there will be no reason for you to be harmed. If the Dark Lord was after you particularly, you would be making funeral arrangements rather than wedding ones, I assure you."

Translation: he couldn't touch her a retain his cover, as Snape had said, and they were definitely going to be using her. Still, the words 'pleasing Draco' were not specifically appealing. She appeared to deliberate for a moment before asking: "What are your terms, sir?"

"I thought you'd never ask." He smirked. "Where are you currently staying as you await the start of term?"

"The Burrow," she answered, relieved that the tea appeared to have no effect on her ability to lie.

"The Burrow?" he asked.

"The Weasleys' home."

"Sounds like some sort of animal hole." He sniffed the air arrogantly, a detestable habit she had noticed on previous occasions. "Well, that won't do. It would be entirely inappropriate, wouldn't you agree, for my son's fiancee to live with the opposing suitor?"

"I suppose."

"Of course you do. So, you agree, therefore, that it would be best for to move in to Malfoy Manner as soon as you accept, formally, the proposal?"

"What?" He raised an eyebrow at her distress. "Yes. That would be fitting." She responded.

He nodded.

"What about when we return to school?" She ventured, silently praying they would be allowed to return.

"I don't foresee that being a problem." Hermione wondered how on earth that could be, unless...unless he knew she was to be made Head Girl, as she had hoped. "It is not too much to ask that, as new member of the Malfoy family, you will conduct yourself in the way of Malfoy family. Be respectful of any rules we have and any guests we entertain. Uphold the code of family honor. Do refrain from setting free our servants. You are to be friendly towards the ministry in all regards. As for your former acquaintances,"

"Yes?"

"Gallivanting with Harry Potter and sporting Gryffindor colors would hardly paint the sort of picture we want to be seen of this marriage."

"Which is?"

"That your allegiance lies with our family."

"And with who your family chooses to serve?"

"That is none of your concern. To the public, you will show a proper amount of obedience and gratefulness that I- no longer under the finger of the Dark Lord- have seen fit to take you in for your safety, after your parent's sad demise, as show of good faith to the community. Although you are to be loyal to my son, there is no need to display false romances. Most traditional marriages are arranged logically and you need not make a show of emotions except, of course, for nosy press. You made the best decision you saw. That is all they respectable community will think. Only, it would do good for you to remember that the further you stay from your friends, the better off the both of you will be. "

"So I protect my friends, myself, and provide for my future children. How generous of you. Tell me: what do you get in return?"

"As I explained, my name will be with good standing in the ministry again."

"And?"

"I thought you'd be able to figure that out. You're an intelligent girl," he sneered. "Keeping you away from Potter and his friends deprives them of a good resource of intellect."

'And,' she added mentally, 'You can use threats on my life to manipulate Harry, while tricking me into slipping up information on him or the Order.' She did not allow herself to comment.

"Shall we make the best of this difficult situation? I'm sure you see the logic in my standing proposal. I trust you will make the right decision. We'd all hate to have to do things the hard way."

Hermione drew another deep breath for strength. It was now or never.

"Yes. I'll accept."

"Excellent." He made no attempt to conceal the look of triumph washing over his aristocratic features. "Would you care to sign now, before you are tempted by your friends to back out on our agreement?"

She looked surprised again, and knew it showed, but Malfoy senior conjuring an official document and quill before her eyes had thrown her. For a moment she considered saying no, but soon realized that he was not going to let her run back to her friends, the Order, or the ministry, and report what had just happened. If she left, there was chance she would back out, and Malfoy could not-would not-let that happen.

Things were happening too fast. How could she explain to Harry and Ron she wouldn't be with them at school? Was she really to stay in the home of the Malfoy's? Was she moving **now**? At least she had the diary with her. As much as she hated to say it: Lucuis was right. She had to do things the easy way, for now.

"That's probably best." She answered, staring at him blankly. It was Malfoy's turn to look taken aback. She then moved over to the antique, roll-top desk he had gestured towards. Onto the line under the heading: "Acquiesce or Decline", she printed "I accept Mr. Malfoy's proposal of marriage to Draco Malfoy." There.

She sensed, rather than saw, Malfoy leaning over her shoulder as he waited for her to steady her grip on the quill and finalize the document. Her mind was racing. 'Now or never,' she told herself. She placed her signature upon the last line of the contract: "Hermione Jane Granger."

She was officially engaged to Malfoy.

_**A/N:** Thanks for reading. As I said, please leave a review! What did you think of this one? I got half as many on chapter 2 than chapter 1 and was confused. I need you to tell me what you thought and what you want to see. The next few chapters are ready to go and a new one will be up in 5-7 days. Anyone ready to meet Draco?_


	4. Draco

**Disclaimer: **I wish I may, I wish I might: own them, but I have no right.

_**A/N: **__First and Foremost, let me just say how much I appreciated all the reviews for the last chapter. Thank you so much! That's the most I've gotten for this story yet. I love reviews and I need them! Thanks to you guys, I got over the problems I was having with chapter 8 by starting a new one and it's finished now! As a result, the action seems to be moving a lot faster than I thought it would, but that means less filler chapters. It will still probably be a long story. Let me know what you think about that. That being said...here's Draco._

**Stolen**

**Chapter 4:** Draco

Lucius Malfoy took the document to be carried by owl to the ministry immediately. He instructed Hermione to wait there and finish her tea. Things would be finalized, her personal effects retrieved, and then she could move into the manor officially. Until then, they would wait for the reply.

He left the room, and she took her seat once more. Hunched over, rubbing her trembling arms, and sucking in deep breaths, Hermione tried to console herself, while taking these few minutes to drop the act and wallow in a little self pity. It was only a few seconds she was to have to herself, however. The door swung open and she practically leapt to her feet as her fiancee entered the room looking positively livid, and- she nearly gasped to find- positively handsome.

The token smirk was gone, replaced by a face that was set in a stone, cold fury. His grey eyes burned like hot smoke. His body was drawn up to full height and his muscles tightened and rippled involuntarily. His chest was swollen, like an enraged beast's might be, making his heavy breathing obvious. She had never seen him so angry, and yet, she had never seen him look this attractive either. As much as the angry scared her, she had to admit, it made her feel, well, other things as well. Indeed, his form had undoubtedly _matured_. As she felt a wave of something unfamiliar wash through her, she mentally jerked herself from her immature and over dramatic reaction to a good looking young man. She hoped he stayed oblivious to the effect his true anger had on her. That certainly couldn't help her situation. As it was, he seemed too furious to have noticed, though she wasn't entirely sure that was a good thing.

"So..." he began, but didn't get much farther. "So..."

"How articulately put, Malfoy."

"I want to get one thing clear Granger: this was NOT my idea."

"I know."

"You do?"

"Yes."

"Oh."

"Oh indeed," she sighed and sat back down, hoping he would do the same. She wasn't in the mood to have a row with Malfoy right now. To her great surprise, he promptly shut the door and took the seat in which his father had previously been seated.

Gazing across the table at her intensely, though without the same sort of rage as before, he asked simply: "You talked to Snape, then?"

"Yes," she answered just as plainly. He made no further comment. Instead, with all his usual arrogant demeanor restored, he reached forward, retrieved a tea cup, and sipped absentmindedly. She watched him closely for any sign of emotions, trying to gage how affairs might be for her before the first of September, but she could sense nothing aside from the fact that he was preoccupied.

That was certainly an emotion she could relate to. Even now, a million questions were whizzing recklessly through her mind, but, as she had no desire to talk, she kept them to herself. Eyeing the young man sitting across from her, she noted how uncomfortable he had managed to make her once again. He had the upper-hand here. He knew what was coming where she could not guess. That arrogant face in place, with its aristocratic features, was such a blunt reminder of the pain and humiliation he had caused her at school. How could her anger have slipped her mind? Why had she thought she could pretend to love him? What had she gotten herself into? How could her feelings possibly shift so quickly about him? Why was he looking at her like that? This status quo made her feel like she was taking a test she had forgotten to study for, and that is not a feeling Hermione Granger was comfortable with, nor very fond of at all.

It was nearing the hour mark when Lucius Malfoy re-entered the room, looking not at all surprised to see Draco in there. 'His father must have made him come in here,' Hermione silently mused.

"Well, welcome to Malfoy Manor, Miss Granger. Your things are being taken to where you will be staying. Draco, please escort your fiancee to her room." It was a politeness of necessity, nothing more. However, it could have easily been snarled, so she was optimistic. At least they weren't kicking her around and pulling her by the hair yet.

"Yes, father," Draco automatically replied. He also did not seem surprised to hear of Hermione's visit, so he must have already heard she would be staying as well.

As she snapped back to reality, she found that Draco was standing at the door, looking at her with an expression she had never seen him wear before. He stood at half turn, awkwardly positioned with one arm held at a strange, rigid angle while the other one lay limp at his side. Hermione looked at him questioningly. The two Malfoy men exchanged a glance that could have meant they thought she was an alien. She flushed, realizing that he was extending his arm for her to take it and that the expression on his face was one of expectation. She quickly moved forward and laid her arm on top of his, gently.

He then proceeded to lead her out of the tea room and down the hall. It was a truly magnificent hallway; arched, tall and decorate. There was no carpet, but rather large slabs of lovely marble covered the floor she found herself admiring. They were so well polished that she could see her reflection in them. Then, she realized that they were probably kept that way by harsh slave labor, and, at the memory of Dobby, she turned away from the shiny marble with disgust in the floor, in the Malfoys, and in herself.

The hallway opened up on one side into a sort of entrance hall into which descended a magnificent staircase. The white marble floor here was streaked with black and the walls were of a dark wood where they were not completely covered in tapestries. She recognized one of these tapestries as a family tree, like the Black's in Grimmauld Place. The ceiling was nearly as high as Hogwarts' and she felt awfully self-conscious of her footsteps echoing loudly on the hard floor. A glance told her that Draco did not seem to notice. In fact, he looked rather bored. They began to make their way up the stairs.

Just when she was beginning to enjoy the quieter Malfoy, he spoke: "Like what you see, Granger?"

"It's huge." It was the only thing close enough to a compliment she could allow herself to utter. Besides, it was true.

"It is, isn't it? Size has always been of great importance in the Malfoy family." Ugh.

"I was talking about the manor."

"As was I."

She was sorely tempted to let go of his arm, but then he may get angry with her and leave her to find her room herself. Considering the size of the place, she could very well spend hours looking. Therefore, she thought it better to play it safe and kept a hold on her temper and his arm.

"How has your summer been? I see you've been hard at work." She sounded pleasant enough.

"How's that?"

"You've developed manners."

"I always had manners, Granger, I've just never had a reason to use them around you or your pathetic friends."

"I see. What's changed?"

"We're engaged." He answered simply. It was somewhat disturbing to hear him announce it like that, as if that suddenly made it become real.

"So we are," she sighed. "Does that commitment override your hatred of mud bloods?"

"Yes, but it was close race," came his snide reply. She could not pretend the answer was expected. "It does not, however, erase my hatred of you." The direct insult stung enough to make her grab her arm from him, as if shocked.

"What reason have you to hate me other than that?"

"Well, let's see. You're a friend of my enemy. You're a Gryffindor. You're a know-it-all. You've gotten me into trouble. You saved a beast that tried to kill me. You helped put my father in prison! What else? Oh I know there's something. What was it? Oh yes! You punched me. I think that's enough for now, don't you?"

"Well," she stammered angrily. "Well,"

"Yes?" he turned and waited, looking smug.

"You're a friend of _my_ enemy. You're a Slytherin. You've gotten _me_ into trouble. You made my teeth grow that time. You call me mud blood every chance you get. Oh and what else?" she mocked him. "What was it? Oh yes! You wished me dead!

"Besides, half of those are the stupidest reasons I've heard! They're not even reasons. Who cares if we're in different houses, or our friends don't get along, or that I'm not a pure blood?" she demanded.

He opened his mouth to retaliate. The argument was so reminiscent of their usual school encounters that she half-expected professor Snape or McGonagall to walk up behind them at any moment and dock off house points. So much for being mature adults. She just couldn't seem to keep her bearings when it came to him. Hell, she had punched him.

"Also, just for the record: when I punched you, it was only because you sorely deserved it." She huffed when she finished, out of breath, as he leaned leisurely against the wall on the landing.

"Well, you've really proved my point Granger."

"What? That you hate me?"

"No, my other point: that this engagement is the most absurd idea I've ever heard."

"My God. We agree on something."

"Don't tell me that. You'll give me nightmares."

"I wouldn't worry, unless it happens again."

"Too late; I'm already trembling in fear."

"I'm sure." He seemed content to end it there, and, smirking, turned sharply on his heel and made his way off down one of the corridors. She groaned mentally. Great. He'd left her. About twenty yards ahead, however, he stopped, and looked back at her.

"Why aren't you moving?" he asked, truly puzzled. On the other hand, maybe he hadn't left her. She walked quickly forward and, as she arrived at his side, he turned to the door on the left and opened it. What she saw utterly took her breath away.

The room they were looking into was roughly the size of the Gryffindor common room, complete with a huge fireplace. One wall was taken up completely by a massive set of windows. The giant curtains drawn from these windows, along with the fluffy canopy bed, the mantel piece, settee, and furniture were all of a lovely pink, fading into lavender, fading into magenta, ending in a deep purple. Even more impressive than that was, in place by a writing desk similar to the one in the tea room, a lavish bookshelf just itching to be touched.

Though the room itself could pass for any generic guest room in the manor of a wealthy family, the colors matched her robes and, she recalled at the sight of them, her dress from the Yule Ball. Could that have been intentional? Was the bookshelf another small amount of courtesy, or had it been in there before she arrived? Then again, maybe it was coincidence, or maybe it was to keep her from wandering around the manor, or maybe, and most likely, the room was prepared by a house elf who was of a more thoughtful disposition and the Malfoy's knew nothing of it.

'That must be it,' she concluded. Accident or not, it was quite a room.

"This is where you will be staying. I see your things have been brought up," he said, gesturing towards her trunks set at the base of a wardrobe. "Father has planned to throw us a little party this evening, but that won't be for several hours."

"Party?"

"An engagement party is tradition. It's thrown, arranged, and organized by the parents of the groom-to-be."

"Is it formal?"

"Usually."

"I'm afraid I don't have anything to wear," she was a little embarrassed to admit.

"Don't be ridiculous. Malfoy's always acquire custom gowns, robes, and costumes for each formal occasion. We have an entire ensemble of house elves that are quite gifted seamstresses. Call one to you to help you prepare. I'll warn you though. They're supposed to keep the theme a secret from the both of us until the last minute."

"It's all happening so fast," she let out, breathlessly. "A party this evening? Your father did seem confident that I'd accept, but I had no idea he was this sure."

"Engagement parties are planned out when the first born son is still a child. Even the guest lists are drawn up ahead of time and mostly include family, political alliances, and friends of the groom-to-be's parents. Since it's a surprise for the couple, who they are wouldn't change that or the theme," he summarized for her. "It's also custom to have it on the evening that the engagement is finalized and announced."

"Oh," she stated.

"Oh indeed." he mocked her. She shot him a harsh look, as, smirking, he closed the door behind her. "See you this evening," was all he said.

_**A/N: **__I hoped you liked it! It was a tad short, I know. So, party anyone? __**Please review!**__ Let me know what you liked in this chapter, what you didn't, what you thought of Draco, the party, and/or what you're looking forward to seeing happen next. Also, I have some bad news and some good news. The bad news: I won't have access to a computer for about 5 days. The good news: I have the next chapter all ready to be posted as soon as I come back, so they'll be no delay!_


	5. Here Goes Nothing

**Discalimer:** If I had money, more than more, I would own them. Alas, I am poor. In other words: I lay no claim to any HP stuff. It's J.K.'s.

_**A/N:** Major thanks to those who read and reviewed the last chapter. I know this chapter took longer than the others but I saw no reason to post at the same time the 7th book came out. I hope you enjoyed it! Again, please leave reviews. There were less in the last chapter and I really can't pretend not to be a tad dissapointed. I would love to see more. Enjoy the chapter!_

**Chapter 5:** Here Goes Nothing

Hermione moved over to her trunks and looked through them to find that everything seemed to be in order. All her school things, clothes, and personal effects she had carried with her were there. First, she put up the picture of her parents and her in second year on the inn table by the bed. She placed another magical photograph, of her and her two best friends smiling in at Hogwarts, on the desk. Taking off her outer robes and draping them over the chair, she performed a simple spell to transfer all of her clothes and books out of her trunk into the wardrobe and desk drawer. As she moved around the room that was to be hers, checking for dark magic, wards, and enchantments, her mind shifted into reflecting on the events of her day.

She had started out the day with a one-on-one lesson with Snape. Directly after that, she had moved on to participating in a yelling match with Ron, only to find she must rush and get ready for tea with Malfoy. During tea with her enemy, she signed an official acceptance of the engagement with his son and was practically forced to move into the manor. Her abrupt welcome to the manor was closely followed by a few direct insults and an argument with one of her least favorite people. Soon, she had to get ready for a huge party the Malfoy's had arranged where she would be celebrating an engagement she did want, to a man who hated her, with people she had faced in battle. All in all, it had been a rough day. Right then, she wanted nothing other than to curl up in bed and squeeze Crookshanks mercilessly.

At that moment, a disturbing thought occurred to her: where was Crookshanks?

She looked hopelessly around for his carrying basket or any trace of the wretched ginger fluff. Nothing. Desperately, she began to call for the kitty and dove to search under the bed. Finding no evidence he had ever been brought there at all, she began to panic. She flung open the door and raced out into the hall. No one was there. More than a little hesitant, she began calling for Draco and walked further up the corridor they had come down. He had disappeared several minutes ago. Which way had he gone? Perhaps it would be wise just to go back to the room and wait.

No. She _needed_ her cat. She began to walk determinedly down one corridor, hoping she ran into Draco rather than Lucius or Narcissa, although, admittedly, it was very odd to find herself hoping to run into Draco Malfoy. She sincerely hoped it this freak occurrence would not repeat itself.

The halls did not continue in one direction, but rather branched off at regular intervals. She took a right at first, then everything began to look the same. There was consistently no answer to her calls and soon she had lost track of how many turns she had taken and where she had turned. It wasn't until her legs actually grew tired and her head began to spin that she sat down on the empty hallway floor in defeat, moaning miserably to herself: "I'm lost."

She then proceeded to talk to herself.

"How bloody pathetic is that? All I wanted was my stupid cat. Is that so much to ask? Now I am lost in the Malfoy Manor with my only remaining hope being, that before I can run across some dark wards and die, Draco will find me and use this to humiliate me for the rest of my life. What bloody life? I have no life. I'm about to become a bloody Malfoy! Mrs. Draco Malfoy. Hermione Malfoy. Bloody hell!" She hung her head in her hands.

"Talk to yourself often, do you?" Hermione's head shot up in shock. Standing before her was a house elf whose presence reassured her no more than Kreacher's would have. In addition to that, she was struck dumb by his uncanny resemblance to that infamous dwarf of muggle Disney fiction: grumpy.

"No," she answered once she regained something of her composure. He grunted in response and began to move on in the direction he had been heading.

"Wait! Wait, I'm, well, I'm a little turned around and I really need to be getting back to my room to get ready..."

He stared up at her and blinked.

"Couldn't you show me where my room is?" she clarified her request.

His look of questioning had changed drastically to one of great resentment. She couldn't begin to fathom how she could have possibly offended him so. She put a hand to her mouth and was about to stutter and apology when he leaned, on his tip toes, very close to her, and studied her intently with n expression that could be described in no other way than savage.

"Are you that -that mud-m-muggleborn Master Malfoy is engaged to?"

She nearly gulped before answering: "Yes." His eyes widened in surprise and his brow folded with pure anger. His little body was nearly shaking in fury. Saliva actually frothed in the corners of his mouth as he gritted his teeth. He looked more rabid than Malfoy had earlier. She pictured Harry's reaction to such outrage. She could almost hear him say, 'What's the big deal?'

She would have laughed at the mental picture, if she wasn't wondering if she should fear for her life. Just as she began to back away, there came a great clanging din from a corridor behind her and a soft, squeaky voice calling her name. Her name!

"Miss Granger? Miss Granger?"

"I'm over here!"she almost found herself smiling at the overwhelming sense of relief.

"What is Miss Granger talking to Dumpy for? Miss Granger is going to be late! So late. Come, come, Miss Granger. We must hurry!"

The other little elf was pulling and tugging urgently on her hand like an eager child wanting to get closer to the monkey's exhibit at the zoo. She, for Hermione assumed it was a she, was quite laterally bouncing up and down with energy and anxiousness. With one last glance at Dumpy, now calming glaring at her, she followed the running little elf up and down halls, left and rights, until she didn't know which way was north and which was south.

The young witch was struggling to keep up with the elf, huffing and puffing, running at full speed, her shoes trip-trapping along on the stone floor. She was so disoriented that, by the time they arrived at her door and bounded in, she didn't even recognize it at first. Hermione shut the door with snap behind her and stood there, heaving for breath, while the elf let out a series of terribly high-pitched squeaks and darted to and fro all round the room, grabbing things and organizing something in the middle of the floor.

Hermione stared at her curiously. With a million questions burning in her mind she finally asked: "Excuse me, who are you?"

The elf did not stop what she was doing, but slowed and quieted a considerable amount. Coming over, she politely bowed, and took Hermione's hand, leading her over to a stool in the center of the room and helping her onto it.

"Thank you." Hermione replied courteously. The little elf froze in mid movement and her jaw dropped. It wobbled around for a minute or so, struggling in vain to make words. She shook her head in disbelief, huge eyes glistening.

"What's wrong? You look like Dobby when you gape at my mere decency like that."

"Dobby?" the elf inquired. "You know Dobby?" she asked breathlessly.

"Oh yes. He used to work here, didn't he? Dobby is, well, he's a friend of mine. He's free now, and he works- for pay mind you- at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardy."

"Does Dobby like it there?"

"Oh yes, very much I think."

"Does Dobby know Harry Potter?" the little thing asked in just more than a whisper.

"Yes. They get on really well. I'm friends with Harry as well." The elf turned away as if it were too much, covering her mouth with her worn hands, and, before Hermione could ask what was wrong, she burst into tears.

Hermione stood there, unsure of what to do. Perhaps trying to comfort her would only increase the floods. She waited a few moments and the elf blew her nose, wiped her face, and apologized hurriedly for the outburst and waste of time. Before, Hermione could get out a real response, she was being measured all over.

"What are you doing?"

"Measuring master's fiancee for her gown tonight, Miss. What color would Miss Granger like?"

"Um, well, I haven't really thought much about it."

"Would periwinkle and cream do, Miss?"

"That sounds lovely. What did you say your name was?"

"Sorry, Miss. I've been very rude in forgetting to tell you my name. Knobby."

"Knobby?"

"Yes, Miss. Knobby."

"And Knobby," Hermione cautiously began, as different color scarves were being wrapped around her and tossed about in a whirlwind of color. "How do you know Dobby?"

"We is not supposed to be talking about Dobby, Miss."

"I won't tell. Please. How do you know him?"

"Dobby is Knobby's brother."

"Oh my."

"Knooby will be back, Miss, soon with Miss's costume. Please, hurry and get ready."

"Where is a bathroom?"

"Right there." she pointed with a bony finger.

"Thanks," Hermione offered, immediately heading there. According to the clock on the wall, she had only a single hour before she must appear at the most formal event she'd ever attended. Her hands were trembling from stress as she turned on the tap in the cavernous bathroom.

The towels, bath curtains, and all were a soft pink and cream, and the room was entirely constructed for a lady. There was a massive tub, toilet, and a large sink, perfect for preparing for a night like this one. Had she had time, she would have relished the elegant bathroom, but, as it was, she barely had enough time to wash and be thankful she wasn't sleeping in the basement.

However fast she may have prepared, it certainly wasn't carelessly. She grabbed some moose from her bag, combing her hair with it and putting in curlers. After a quick drying spell, she released her locks from the curlers to place of spell upon them that, she hoped, kept them shiny and in place. For good measure, she doused it with muggle hair spray.

She used a nice salve she had made from a potion, hoping to keep her skin from getting oily or her make-up from smearing. She sprayed herself with body mist, as she didn't really carry perfume, and applied lotion as well until she was satisfied that she smelled like honeysuckle. After brushing her teeth vigorously, she re-entered the bedroom in her robe to find Knobby waiting patiently before a dressing shade. Hermione slipped behind it and allowed Knobby to dress her at top speed, as the elf seemed to do everything. Catching only a glance at her dress, she thought it a little odd, but nice enough. Who was she to question pure-blood traditional style? It was fairly plain with flowing layers of cotton-like fabric in several soft shades and it draped on her shoulders, almost like a toga. Odd indeed.

Plopping down in a chair at the dresser, Hermione proceeded to add the finishing touches with her make-up as Knobby insisted on braiding her hair intricately and pulling parts of it back. As Hermione applied a second coat of mascara, there was a sudden knock at the door.

"Yes?" she asked, startled yet again.

"Granger, it's time to go. Are you ready?" Draco's voice drawled from outside the door.

"Oh...er, just about. I'm coming!" she called. Knobby let out another panicked squeak and Hermione was assaulted with a giant puff ball covered in some glittery, dusty stuff. The elf placed something on top of Hermione's hair who had the sense to cast a quick sticking charm to it just before her wrist was grabbed and a piece of metal jewelry was thrust onto it. She slipped the shoes before her (silver looking sandal-like heels) on to her feet, and latched a necklace, a twin of the bracelet on her wrist, around her neck.

"Oh." Hermione said as she was pushed towards the door. She grabbed some magical lip gloss and applied a coat just as Draco's voice came sharply: "Come on! We're going to be late!"

"Coming!" she called "Thank you, Knobby," she began, but the elf cut her off with a fervent nod and a final shove towards the door.

"Wait!" Gasped Hermione. "I don't even know what I look like."

"Miss looks lovely, Miss." The door was swung open and she was pushed forth, stumbling out into the hall and right into Draco with a light Thump!

"Oh my," Hermione said, pulling herself upright. She allowed herself a moment to gawk. Draco was clad in silver sandals as well, and was wearing silvery toga-like robes with an under-lawyer of midnight blue. His crown, for that was what had also been placed on her head, matched hers and her jewelry. It looked like a branch of Olive leaves, similar to those the champions at the Greek games, woven in silver. His was larger, of course. He also had a sword sheathed at his side, a thick leather belt with silver badges of honor on them, and protective leather wrist band.

His blonde hair fell freely and his arms were totally exposed. He smelled like laurel. The expression on his face, however, was far from this. He looked disgusted.

"What's wrong?" Hermione asked, worried about her own haphazard appearance.

"You're _on_ me!" he snapped, placing her upright on her feet.

"Oh. Sorry," she blinked several times and looked down.

"It's a fancy dress party," he explained unnecessarily.

"Yes, and we must be Greeks."

"Odysseus and Penelope to be exact." She nodded. He extended his arm with a sigh and she took it, lifting her head only to face their direction.

"You won't embarrass me Granger, will you?"

"Not on your life."

"Good. Well, here goes nothing."

_**A/N:** Well, please tell me: How do you like my littlest new characters? What do you think of my choice of costumes? Up for a fancy dress party anyone? The next chapter is going to be longest yet! Around 3,400 words instead of 2,400. Please leave a review!_


	6. A Memorable Evening

**Disclaimer:** Not mine. Please see previous chapters for full.

_**A/N:** Wow. That was the most reviews yet and it really made my day! Please continue to leave comments, questions, and suggestions. I love hearing about the parts you liked and that you enjoyed reading. I also am open to ideas and suggestions. Hearing what you're looking forward too is important too. Feedback is vital! I really loved writing this chapter and I hope you enjoy it! Important: This entire party was written before HP7 ever came out, so things will be a bit different! _

**Chapter 6:** A Memorable Evening

They stopped just before the landing to the main staircase. She felt her stomach twist like never before as the commotion from the entrance hall below met her ears. There was a tinkling of glass, and a deep voice began speaking.

"Good evening,"

Hermione eyed Draco nervously. He was staring at her hand and it was trembling. What kind of a Gryffindor was she? She had reason to fret, though. She was going to have to begin her act tonight! There was no doubt that there would be a number of important people in the crowd awaiting them. Worse still, there would doubtlessly be Death Eaters.

"I welcome you all to my home for this landmark and joyous event. Tonight, my son, Draco, shall celebrate with you, my most treasured companions, his wedding engagement."

There were cheers from the crowd at this.

"Tonight promises to be a very memorable evening in his honor, and I sincerely thank all of you for coming. As you know, this has been a part of pureblood heritage for centuries. Since the birth of my son, my wife and I have been drawing up plans for this party and I feel confident that everything will be to your great liking."

Again, more cheers met this promise.

"For a hundreds of years, close friends and family have gathered together in this Manor, to salute every first born son's engagement announcement with a party, each trying to out-do the last, and to announce the fine woman to whom his bonding has been arranged."

'Announced?' thought Hermione. 'They don't know yet? Oh Lord.'

She tightened her hold on Draco's hand. He looked at her inquisitively.

"Start playing the part, right?" she whispered nervously.

"Are you scared?" He sounded amused.

"No! Just a tad bit anxious is all."

"Sure."

"I didn't know that they didn't know who I was."

"Most of them do, but father wants to make a scene. Just be polite and stay at my side, following my lead." She nodded gratefully. She knew he was just trying to make sure that she behaved, but it was still lucky for her. Now, at least, he wouldn't ditch her.

Hermione had decided earlier that tonight she would not embarrass the Malfoy's, no matter how tempting it may be, because that would also mean embarrassing herself too. She wanted to show these pureblood snobs that muggles raise their children with manners and a sense of propriety as well. This was her chance to finally do so.

The two of them both wanted to look handsome and respectable tonight, and to do that they needed each others help. She and Draco would be walking into that room as allies for the first time. Then, quite against her will, her knees began to get dangerously weak and shaky.

"Oh," she let out a breath. She smoothed her dress, prodded her hair, and straightened her crown, unnecessarily, wishing desperately she could have looked at herself before leaving.

"Stop it!" he whispered harshly. "What are you doing?"

"Sorry, I just- Sod it! I'm nervous and I have no idea what I look like because I was in such a rush I didn't even catch a glance in the mirror, and, well..."

He looked her calmly and arrogantly up and down as she squinted in expectation of the scathing comment he was bound to produce. With another appraising glance, he raised an eyebrow, and gave a moment for thought. She was actually considering turning around and running back to her room, although she wasn't positive she could find it.

"It gives me and my wife great pleasure to introduce,"

'My God! This is it! Say something, Draco,' she begged mentally.

"Draco Malfoy and his betrothed,"

Her breath refused to come out, her heart was beating unbecomingly loud and much to fast for her liking.

"Miss.. Hermione Granger."

"I can't!" she yelped in a last moment of panic.

"Don't be ridiculous," he snarled, stepping forth. Then, softer: "You look lovely."

She flushed, taken aback, and allowed herself to be lead, without a word, to the top of the landing. If his plan had been to shock her into silent submission, it had certainly worked. There was a beat of surprise before the tremendous crowd below them followed Lucius and Narcissa in applause. At the edge of the banister, Hermione stood beside Draco and his parents as they stared pompously down upon the applauding crowd.

There were close to a hundred people there, and she bet every single one of them were purebloods. She bet, but she couldn't be sure as all of them were dressed in stunning costumes. It was even more enchanting than a muggle fancy dress party, because magic had been included in the making of each disguise. While admiring the creativity of the guests, or their house elves, she also registered an amount of admiration for Lucius Malfoy's intelligence. In this manner, the guests would be so well disguised that escaped Death Eaters could mingle amongst ministry officials unrecognized. It truly possessed an element of evil genius she did not think Lucius was capable of having.

This may prove a challenge for her mission. Nevertheless, she felt safe knowing that they couldn't do her any real harm here and now without running the risk of being discovered.

She noted that, next to her, Narcissa and Lucius's costumes were also Greek in design. With her Peacock feather mask and his golden, lighting bolt shaped cane in place of his serpent one, they must be Zeus and Hera, Hermione surmised. After a few moments where the group basked in the glow of attention, the host and hostess began making their way gracefully and -thank God!- slowly down the grand staircase. Draco followed them suit, Hermione still clinging to his arm.

The crowd cleared a path, still applauding, staring, and shouting congratulations. As they walked through it, Hermione felt she must have blinders on. She saw nothing and no one, only her ears shook with the ruckus chorus of praise. Below the staircase, beside two golden plated doors inscribed with many ancient letters, Lucius and Narcissa stopped and faced the two of them, grinning widely.

Draco, next to her, was smiling in earnest anticipation. Hermione donned a small, friendly smile. The parents took their places proudly beside the doors as they magically opened, revealing a beautifully decorated dinning hall.

The hall was nothing short of cavernous, topped with a great dome ceiling. A trail of flower petals, white and purple, lined the way into the room where countless streamers, dousing the room with brightness and color, were of Slytherin green, fine silver, and royal purple. These fluttered in a magical and inviting breeze. Masses of candles floated around, along with carousals of champaign glasses and silver plates of hors'd oeuvres.

There was an ice sculpture in the center, not unlike the one at the Yule ball. The torches around the edges of the walls flared dramatically every few moments. Beside these torches were windows which allowed some moonlight to seep into the room, giving it an wonderful, eerie glow. At regular intervals, the windows were of stained glass, rather than clear. An orchestra, at the back, played enchantingly upon a raised platform from behind a curtain of gossamer, while things that looked suspiciously like fairy lights danced around them. Ridiculously long tables for formal dining, now bare of food, were moved aside to make room for socializing and possibly, she registered painfully, dancing.

There was, again, another round of enthusiastic clapping at this display. Hermione and Draco joined in, honestly impressed. After a minute of showing appreciation, Draco took Hermione's arm again and led her towards the entrance. They stopped short of entering, however, and stood alongside his parents as the guests, who had lined up behind them, came forth.

First came family. Hermione bit painfully on the inside her mouth. Snape hadn't included "no killing future in-laws" as a rule, but she was pretty sure it was on the list. A tight, polite smile, graced her features as she shook hands, briefly, with those who offered theirs.

The first to approach them was a man in a brilliant dragon costume of red and burning orange, smoking from the nostrils, complete with a moving tail. The dragon opened its vicious mouth to reveal the face of someone closely resembling Lucius. At his side was a lovely looking older woman, with white hair and a surprisingly kind smile, dressed as a fairy with fluttering pink and yellow wings that actually allowed her to glide across the floor.

"Welcome Uncle Claudius!" greeted Lucius amiably. "This is Hermione. Hermione, this is Draco's great-uncle, my father's younger brother, Claudius. Here is his wife, Aunt Roseline."

"Honored to make you acquaintance, Sir, Madam," Hermione offered. Not one of them bothered to conceal their shock. She, on the otehr hand, held in an arrogant smirk, in fear of resembling one of them, choosing instead to look oblivious to their surprise.

"A pleasure, my dear," Claudius responded. The smiling, older witch took her hand briefly and the two moved on. Behind them, three handsome knights in shining armor stepped forward.

"Their three sons. How wonderful to see you again boys." Lucius shook their hands. "Raphael, Gabriel, and Michael. Hermione." They bowed and she dipped a curtsey as they, too, moved into the dinning hall.

Three more figures came forth from the throng wearing heavy face paint. Two men dressed as Hephaestus and Hercules; the latter escorted a particularly wicked looking black cat. It only took a moment for her to realize the cat as Bellatrix and her throat tightened.

"Narcissa's closest relatives: Rabastan, Rodolfus, and Bellatrix Lestrange," Malfoy offered in an undertone. His eyes met Hermione harshly, as a warning to keep their identity hidden. She nodded.

Bellatrix kissed each of their cheeks until she came to Hermione. While the men chose to ignore her, Bellatrix grabbed her arm, pulled her close, and commented in a mock sweet voice: "You look lovely, Lady Penelope."

Not missing a beat, Hermione replied: "Thank you. I like your costume as well. I absolutely love cats." Bellatrix's wild eyes smiled at from under black paint and heavy false lashes. Hermione did not look away. Clearly dissatisfied, Bellatrix left.

From the next onslaught of guests that they welcomed, many offered congratulations to Hermione and Draco and were very talkative. They were, Hermione surmised, little more than a parade of Malfoy's political alliances. First and foremost, she was shocked to see the current Minister of Magic, Scrimgeour, himself. She was polite enough, though she did not care for the man at all, personally. He looked odd in his imposing Egyptian Pharaoh costume.

The rest included: the former minister, Fudge, in his costume of St. George. He and Malfoy seemed on especially good terms. They always had been, she reminded herself. Malfoy had been seen speaking to him at the ministry and was invited to sit with them at the World Cup. She also recognized professor Slughorn, dressed as Beowulf. They spoke, briefly, before the group was accosted by a mummy, who, Hermione soon found, to be Julius Ogden, the wealthy owner of Ogden's Brewery, known for the renown Ogden's Firewhiskey. A man dressed disturbingly as a corpse, who was introduced as Roger Amicus, Department of Mysteries, did not say a word to any of them. When he left, Draco whispered that the man was an Unspeakable. That explained a lot. How does one come to know an unspeakable, she wondered. Why is he on such good terms with a Malfoy? She made a mental note on that for later.

While musing on that, Hermione nearly jumped in shock when she saw before her a 10 foot troll extending his hand in greeting.

"Hadrian Wells. I work with Lucius," he boomed. Blushing at her foolishness in mistaking his costume for his identity, she shook the man's hands amiably. He lingered for a few moments, looking at her often and even throwing a wink her way. He was pleasant at least. As the next group stepped forth, she noticed Draco was frowning. It was almost as if he had noticed the attention Hadrian had given her and was... jealous? She had no idea Malfoy was that good of an actor.

More than a little surprised, Hermione found that the Malfoy's really did know Griselda Marchbanks as well as Malfalda Hopkirk (a mandrake, Hermione believed) both important links to the ministry.

Trying to discern if Marchbanks was in fact supposed to be Helga Hufflepuff, she did not notice the next guest until she found her hand, softly pressed to his lips. She gasped. Standing before her was Gladiator with stunning, familiar eyes. Before he removed his helmet, she knew him.

"Victor."

"Congratulations, Er-miony." Was he a sight for sore eyes! She wanted desperately to pounce on him and hug him, but settled for declaring: "It's so good to see you! How have you been? Thank you for coming."

He smiled. "It's good to see you again, too. I'm well. You're welcome. I wouldn't have missed it." Then, he turned to Draco. "You are very lucky." They nodded at each other, Krum replaced his mask, and left them to go to the party.

Draco was looking more agitated. Was he really able to play jealously well, or was he just insulted for being told he was lucky to be marrying a mudblood? His anger was nothing to what Hermione's face showed when the next guest was none other than awful, infamous, twit: Rita Skeeter, here fashioned as a Cornish pixie, was looking bright and cheerful as ever, with quill in tow.

"Good evening Mr. Malfoy. I must say, you two have really out done yourselves. It's magnificent. Absolutely gorgeous. I, on behalf of the Daily Prophet, think the public will be talking about this party for years to come. I've never seen anything quite like it. Such wonderful fun with costumes, although it does make it difficult for me to identify your guests."

"There is no need. We agreed there would be no photographs." Lucius answered lazily.

"Pity. Odd request really. You think you'd want everyone to know-"

"This party is has a very selective guest list," Narcissa interrupted, speaking for the first time that evening. "We'd hate to degrade the privacy and prestige, if you will, of the event by any display that might make the public perceive it as anything else. We trust you to use enough tact."

Hermione held in a snort.

"Of course. I'm honored to be your choice of journalist. I see it as such an opportunity."

"Our pleasure."

"Draco, so nice to see you again. You do look the part of a Greek warrior, don't you? Such strong arms! Tell me, do you feel that you have been on the same sort of odyssey as Homer's character; perhaps looking for the right love? Have you finally been united with your Penelope?"

She blinked expectantly. Hermione was glad he would be the first to answer, so she could follow his lead. Just how in love were they supposed to be? She was expecting anything but his answer.

"Yes. When I first heard of the law, I was disappointed, but I've seen the error of my logic when I began seeing my Hermione. What else could I do when I found she'd be alone in the world? My parents have made a wise and generous decision. As you know, she's a truly brilliant witch, despite the fact that both her parents were muggles. "

"And a lovely one." Skeeter added.

"Very." Only Hermione caught the moment of hesitation in which he appeared to be swallowing a hairball.

"And Miss Granger? How do you feel about your current situation?"

'Here goes nothing,' She told herself. "I'm very grateful to the Malfoys for all they've done for me. You have no idea."

"And are you looking forward to being married, or are you still in shock from your parents horrendous death and feel that it's all to rushed? Do you worry that your friends will abandon you? Are you using the Malfoys for their assets to secure your future that was in tatters only days ago?"

"I'm certainly very excited about the wedding, but yes, it's still very difficult for me. My friends... if they would they aren't really friends, are they? I would never use the Malfoys, though, as I said, I'm grateful for all they've done. I shudder to think what could have happened to me if they hadn't taken me in. I could have been murdered like my parents if not in the safety of their home."

"You feel safe here, then?"

"Of course. Draco is a man of his word and a man of honor," she looked at Draco pointedly, promising to hold him to that. "He would never let harm come to his fiancee."

"How do you feel about the party?"

"It's wonderful, as you've said. Just what the wizarding world needs at a time like this, to lift spirits."

'There,' thought Hermione. 'Take that and choke on it.'

"What about the secretive other suitor and the rumor that it was Harry Potter or Victor Krum?"

"That will do for now, Ms. Skeeter." Lucius intercepted.

"Yes,"

"Oh, and, Ms. Skeeter," Hermione called after her.

"Yes?"

"I really like your costume. It's adorable. Of course, I'm a bit surprised at your choice."

"Oh? How's that, dear?"

"I would have thought you'd come as some sort of ladybug, or a beetle perhaps?"

Draco snorted.

If Hermione thought that was difficult, it was nothing compared to what followed. The rest of the 'friends' were almost certainly Death Eaters. They were dressed in the most horrific costumes: a dementor, a cruel looking man in an iron mask, Jack the Ripper, a mad looking jester. She caught a glimpse of one she believed to be Wormtail with strange silver gloves on; she thought only one of the pair was really made of cloth. She was not introduced, they did not acknowledge her presence, but more than once she heard uttered by the others names she recalled: McNair, Avery, Crabbe, Goyle, Nott, Dolvoho, Carrow. The Zambinis and the Parkisons were there, and spoke to her; except Pansy, whose eyes were clearly watering.

Among them came one guest who didn't look as if she should be there. Dressed as a siren, the girl that was last to speak to them was nothing short of beautiful. Her golden hair flowed straight down her shoulders. Her crystal blue eyes sparkled as they took in Draco's appearance. She was amiable, talking animatedly with both parents and giving Draco a kiss on the cheek. As she pulled away however, and Hermione stepped forward to shake her hand, she turned away and walked straight past her, smiling as if no one was there.

Hermione felt her face fall. She half hoped, after the show she put on, Draco might stand up for her honor, but there was no press, no politicians, no reason to do so, and so he did not. Draco and Hermione walked on the path of beautiful petals into the crowd.

"Mingle." Draco instructed her. Then, her worst nightmare, the exact thing she hoped most to avoid this evening, happened. He walked away. She stared blankly at a crowd in which she recognized no one. Even if she did, who would she talk to? She looked stupid, she just knew it. Still, she scanned the masks for a glimpse of something familiar. Few people would deign to meet her gaze, and when they did, she wished they hadn't. For from out behind costumes of snow queens, who had a cloud of snowflakes magically following their every move, and wilderness princesses, upon whose green and gold hair alighted butterflies, hateful eyes peered back at her. The leered, they threatened, they dared her to speak. She was actually frightened of what might happen if she did.

Bravely, she walked forward anyway, smiling an bowing, wishing she had something in her hands to fiddle with. She snatched a passing glass of champaign and sipped it, pretending to be interested in the ice sculpture. She made her way over to it and stared, hoping no one would notice the pools of tears swelling in her eyes. No one did.

From behind, a hand grabbed her roughly by the elbow. She jerked around to face... the man in the iron mask!

_**A/N:** Evil; I know, I know. I'm sorry! It was so long already and I couldn't cut anything out b/c it's all important later on...I couldn't resist. I'll make you a deal: leave a bunch of reviews and I'll post a new one early! Please?_


	7. The Man in the Iron Mask

**Disclaimer: **I don't own it. Please read previous chapters for full note.

_**A/N: **I got my wish: the most reviews yet for the last chapter! Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed! As promised I up-dated super fast. This chapter is even longer! It's basically part 2 of the party. I hope you lie it. Please review! Also, I will be up-dating irregularly for the next couple weeks as I move out of the house and into a dorm ans switch computers, so wish me luck and bear with me. Keep an eye out for up-dates. Thanks!_

**Stolen**

**Chapter 7:** The Man in the Iron Mask

Her heart stopped, breath caught, and her throat constricted painfully tight. She felt as though she were trapped in a nightmare in which she tried to scream, but couldn't make a sound; tried to run, but couldn't move; tried to wake herself up, but couldn't get away. Meanwhile, the world around her continued to twirl and blur, laughing and enjoying themselves. They were oblivious, and, even if they had noticed her distress, would they have cared? She reached for her wand, concealed in her dress.

"Not a wise move, Miss Granger," came a soothingly low and silky voice. She recognized that voice.

"Snape?" she breathed, not quite daring to believe her sudden turn of luck.

"How perceptive."

"Prove it," she demanded plainly.

Unless she was very much mistaken, she heard him laugh quietly. "I'm impressed," he offered truthfully. "Tell me: how are we faring with step one: don't kill Malfoy?"

She breathed a heavy sigh of relief. "I never thought I'd say this, but I'm actually happy to see you."

"Well, for God's sake don't show it! Do you want to give us both away? If anyone's looking, I am threatening you right now." She immediately caught on and began to adopt her former expression, feigning an attempt to pull away. He leaned forward and whispered maliciously in her ear: "Are you alright?"

"I'm horrible."

"Good."

"Good?"

"It means you're doing your job."

"Then I must be doing it really, really well."

"Oh?"

"Well, yes considering I had to move into Malfoy Manor today because he was so insistent. He threatened Ron's life so I would sign the proposal, which simplified things for me. How are the boys taking it?"

"Potter tried to show up here tonight dressed as Death Eater, but, needless to say, he was deterred. Mr. Weasley, on the other hand, to a more devious approach. He crawled into your trunk where Lupin discovered him and nearly had a heart attack."

That caused her to smile a little in spite of her misery.

"Hear anything interesting?" he queried.

"There's an unspeakable here that appears to know the Malfoys. His name was Roger Amicus."

"Intriguing. I'll look into it. And?"

"And a load of other ministry members, that dreadful Rita Skeeter, and about a million others I didn't want to have to lay eyes on."

"I would have thought with your aptitude for memorizing things so quickly you'd be able to identify them all."

"Well, I may have had I thought of it ahead of time," she stuttered, embarrassed that she had let them down. "Of course, I had only been informed recently of the party at all. Are there any more ancient pureblood traditions I should know about?"

"Many, but we don't have the time. You'll have to wing it."

"Great. More surprises," she replied with heavy sarcasm.

"Had many?"

"Well, yes, seeing the minister of magic followed by the Death Eaters entering my engagement party was a bit of a shock. Are they all here?"

"The ones it was safe to bring."

"Those are the safe ones? That makes me feel much better." She rolled her eyes.

"Bellatrix was a stretch. Lucius and Narcissa will keep an eye on her. Speaking of that, why aren't you keeping an eye and ear on Draco?"

"I was doing just that until he left me!" she snapped back.

"He what?" Snape sounded surprisingly concerned.

"He threw me into a crowd and told me to 'mingle'. Then, he disappeared. He's probably off making me look like a total fool by flirting or dancing with that girl."

"What girl?"

"Oh, just this heart-wrenchingly beautiful siren who kissed him and then completely snubbed me," she whined shamelessly.

"We can't have anything to start up rumors. You have to put a stop to this immediately."

"How do you propose I do that? Anything I do to put a stop to it will do more than start rumors. You're right. I'm not ready. I'm immature and weak minded and-"

"And you're acting like a complete twit." he finished for her. "Stop whining. What good is that big brain of yours if your refuse to use it outside of a classroom? Think. How do you manipulate a Malfoy?"

With that, for he spied Lucius approaching, he shoved her unceremoniously into the crowd. While it wasn't exactly reassurance, at this point, she'd have to take what she could get. To her great horror, Snape's push had used more force then was necessary, and she found herself thrown horribly off balance actually falling- God falling!- towards that hard, cold floor.

Just in time, a strong pair of hands took her by the arms and swooped her upright with surprising strength at less than a foot from the ground. She gasped and opened her mouth to thank Snape, only to find that Snape was long gone. The man pressed against her, clutching her wrists, had a bare chest and donned antique armor. He looked like a gladiator.

"Careful, Hermy-on-knee"

"Thank you."

"You're welcome. Where is your fiancee? Should he not be here to catch you when you fall?"

"He's- well he's... I'm not sure. I seem to have misplaced him," she laughed nervously, blushing. He frowned and searched her face.

"Aren't you enjoying your party?"

"Of course, I'm just-I'm bored." A wave of genius crashed upon her. How was one to go about manipulating a Malfoy? If she was to get him away from that girl without approaching them, she must give him a reason to leave. How was she to do that? Make him jealous! "Care to dance?" she blurted out.

"Won't he mind?" Krum raised an eyebrow though he didn't seem particularly worried.

"He might, if he ever notices." He understood.

He took her hand with confidence and she felt like the unsteady young girl she was when she had first been led across a dance floor by his strong arms. She had not danced since then and had forgotten just how much she enjoyed it. As they moved with the masses, she couldn't help but observe the view before her.

He looked truly physically impressive, she reflected. A fresh wave of hot embarrassment flooded through her when he caught her staring at his generously exposed chest. She tired to recover quickly with conversation.

"You're costume is fantastic." Smooth.

"Thank you. It was a good idea, no, to make it a fancy dress party?"

"I suppose. I feel bloody ridiculous."

"You look wonderful." She allowed herself to blush as furiously as she wanted this time.

"When did you become such good friends with the Malfoys?" He stiffened.

"Ironic," he began.

"What?"

"I was just wondering when you fell in love with him." She looked away. "Let's talk about something else," he offered.

"Let's," she agreed.

"Are you looking forward to your last year of school?"

"Yes and no," she answered, falling back into being herself for the first time that evening. "I'm happy to be going back, especially with things the way they are now, and I love school, of course. It's sad, though. We'll be leaving soon. Nothing will ever be the same." She sighed and her head fell instinctively onto his shoulder.

"Do you despise change so, Herm-me-nee?"

"Yes. I do."

"It can be a good thing."

"It can be, but it usually isn't." He laughed in response.

"When did you become so pessimistic?"

She laughed lightly. "Since," she paused. "Well, since... Since I read that book you suggested," she joked.

"It was beautiful, was it not?"

"Beautiful yes, but awfully depressing."

"Sorry."

"No you're not," she teased. "I'm surprised you have time to read with all that goes into your quidditch playing."

"Well, it's not easy, but, if you truly enjoy it, you make time. Between you and me, I don't think that's going to be a problem much longer."

"What do you mean?"

"The war has effected everything," he hinted with a touch of bitterness.

"Even qudditch?"

"Hermy-own, when are you going to learn? Everything has to do with quidditch." They laughed at that.

Not another word was spoken, but the silence was not awkward between the two old friends. They just enjoyed the dance and the music and the momentary peace, until Hermione, growing slightly drowsy, felt her partner stiffen and announce: "He's noticed."

Sure enough, Draco had noticed. He was making his way towards them determinedly through the crowd. He was frowning, but when he reached them all hint of displeasure was concealed tactfully in a splendid show of manners towards his affluent guest.

"May I?" he gestured.

"Of course. Good evening." Krum immediately released her, bowed, and then placed her hand in Malfoy's. She felt the last step was dreadfully unnecessary.

To her utter astonishment, Malfoy was quite a good dancer. She actually considered complementing him before he hissed at her: "What were you thinking dancing with your ex-boyfriend at my engagement party?"

"Your engagement party? I was under the impression it was for the two of us."

"You know what I meant."

"Well, to be honest, I knew you wouldn't stand for it."

"Trying to infuriate me?"

"Yes, to get you away from your little friend over there. What happened to 'don't leave my side'? How am I supposed to act properly if you leave me by myself in a hall full of muggle-haters for you to pursue outside interests?"

"What are you talking about?"

"I purposely made you jealous to get you away from that girl because you were causing us problems!"

"You play jealous really well. You almost fool me into thinking you might actually be angry about it."

"Don't be ridiculous. It was Snape's idea. I just don't want you to make me look like a fool."

"Too late."

"Shut up."

There were a few moments of silence, no where near as comfortable as the ones she and Viktor had shared. Finally, she couldn't hold it in anymore.

"Who is she anyway?"

"Who?"

"Don't even try it. You know who."

"Her name is Morissa Gouge. She's the pureblood I was supposed to marry."

"You love her?"

"I've met her once before tonight."

"She seemed enthusiastic enough about you."

"You're just mad she didn't speak to you."

"Well, it was rude."

"She will not speak to mudbloods."

"You're such a muggle lover."

"That's what she said."

"Really?"

"I think blood traitor was insinuated, but she wouldn't dare. Her family's old, but not that rich. That would inevitably start a quarrel. She said I had no idea what I was missing," he spat.

"I told you I should have been keeping an eye on you," she teased him.

"On me? From now on, Granger, we stick together no matter how painful it becomes, deal?"

"Absolutely."

"I'll hold you to that."

"Likewise."

They finished the dance to avoid both conversation and suspicion before they made their way to the clustered area in front of the stage directly behind the ice sculpture. There was a wine fountain cascading eloquently. Draco dipped two small, silver goblets in and handed her one.

While they were drinking, several people came over to make small talk. Both ladies from the ministry gave their well wishes. Draco's cousins came and spoke amiably enough until Draco made excuses to walk away. Hermione followed suit.

"Thank you father, the party is incredible," he told Lucius when the man was finally free.

"You're welcome."

"It's truly a wonder. I've never seen anything like it," Hermione admitted politely.

"I'm sure." Lucius sneered. She stood their awkwardly as they talked for what felt like a very long time. Meaningless small talk droned on and on as more people approached them. She felt someone was staring at her several times, but turned to find no one. After about ten minuets of her head being jerked like a marionet by her suspicions she finally located the source of her distress.

One of the gallant young knights, she guessed it was the one they called Raphael though she couldn't be sure, was watching her closely from the fountain. She threw him a smile that he did not return. He continued to stare unwaveringly, though not unpleasantly, in her direction. She quickly and embarrassedly checked behind her to see if he was staring at someone else, like Morissa, but he wasn't. She looked back for a few moments, raised her eyebrows questioningly, and tried smiling again. At this he looked nothing short of taken aback and, opening his mouth to say something, ignored his hands and promptly spilled his drink gracefully down the front of his sparkling armor. She cocked her head. He looked around embarrassed and cleaner himself up. Not wanting to be rude Hermione looked away.

For several more long moments she stood obediently, though resentfully, at Draco's side. Her mind wandering as aimlessly as her eyes, she tried to appear happy, especially when she caught sight of a crafty look Rita Skeeter slinking around. She placed a hand on Draco's arm and caught his and his father's foul looks.

She glared back and mouthed: "Skeeter." After a few moments she released Draco's arm and gave up pretending to listen. Gazing into the crowd of people enjoying themselves, she was surprised to find herself staring directly at Raphael again. This time there was no mistaking him for one of his brothers. Michael had been the tallest and Gabriel the littlest. Raphael was also darker than his siblings, although his eyes were the brightest sky blue she'd ever seen. Momentarily swept away by his shy beauty, and eager to receive more of the evening's rarest kindness, she smiled at him again, this time with a small wave.

His eyebrows shot upwards in unmistakable surprise and he too, slightly hesitant, raised a hand in greeting. She waved hers a little more and dropped it as he smiled widely. Now sure it was him she was addressing, he waved vigorously. He continued to stand their and waved and smile, seemingly taken leave of his senses. She embraced the awkward friendliness because it was just about the only genuine sort of it she'd witnessed that evening.

Out of no where, a dragon came up to the foolishly jolly looking, quiet brother, and gently pulled him away. Draco's uncle glanced warily in her direction, whispered something sensible, and brought Raphael back into the crowd. Though his eyes continued to follow her, she lost sight of him quickly.

Hermione grew more and more tired and bored. She was beginning to really feel dead on her feet when Narcissa rushed up to them, announcing anxiously: "Draco! It's time!"

"Oh yes." He suddenly placed his drink and hers on the table behind them and took Hermione's arm. Lucius amplified his voice.

"My friends and family," The commotion hushed. "It is now time for the highlight of the evening: the betrothed midnight dance. Please clear the floor to make way for the couple."

"What?" Hermione hissed in his ear. Without so much as a reply, he led her forwards.

To say that Hermione was surprised at such an declaration would be a great understatement. She was nothing short of shocked to be led out onto the cleared dance floor by Draco Malfoy's hand, but more startling still was the way in which she was led. His manner was only slightly commanding and for that she was, at least at that moment, grateful. As she could barely manage to put one foot in front of the other and could not begin to take control.

His hand was warmer and gentler than she would have imagined it. The way his fingers gripped hers, firmly but delicately, she wondered if he could sense her apprehension or feel her heart pounding within her chest. Although he could not be comfortable before so many expectant eyes either, he certainly didn't show it. In doing so, he pulled from her courage forth as well.

Faces around them blurred like falling rain, as they bustled about and craned their necks to view the couple. Hermione felt herself, again, grateful that she was the woman and not expected to lead. Standing before such a crowd, whose anticipation of her all but certain failure she could feel pulsing off them and pressing in on her like their breaths, suffocated her. As they nodded to such eager faces, she would have been trembling were it not for the glance Draco threw her just before. It was one shockingly empty of those traits and features she had come to associate with the Malfoy's expressions. There was no trace of that token sarcasm, hostility towards her, and even arrogance. In place of these, she was startled to find evidence of such things as confidence, determination, and understanding.

His eyes not moving from hers, he dipped his head to signal his next move and he took that single step that brought their bodies in contact. His right hand snaked its way around her waist before she could barely remember to position hers, while his other hand kept a hold on hers and raised it readily. He leaned further into her until she could feel every curve, muscle, and bone of the figure outlined before her. She discovered a warmth which was, rather than disturbing of bothersome, comforting. She too stepped forward, spreading the warmth further and searching his eyes for an indication that he felt it too. She found he did.

Without effect, it seemed, the two had moved so close that, with their lose fitting garments flowing with each other to the floor, their cheeks pressed gingerly together, their feet hidden, to someone viewing them from the back it may be difficult to decipher where one ended and the other began. This was another solemn comfort to Hermione now breathing in time with her enemy in preparation of the notes soon to come. Perhaps this warmth and closeness generated a sense of security and trust. Perhaps the situation they had been thrown into now reflected their current situation in life. They were force to be partners, like school rivals paired in dancing lessons. They would have to trust each other, move with each other, lead and follow, share space in peace. She nearly laughed at the irony.

As she smiled, Draco did as well. Was he thinking the same thing? Trying not to laugh, the two began a graceful waltz. She no longer bothered to count the one, two, three, one, two, three as she once had. Spinning in the middle of the crowd that was wishing she'd trip and fall, she could no longer recognize their faces. They could have just as easily been well wishers. They could have been the Order. For a moment she closed her eyes and pretended they were. In her minds' eye she saw Remus smiling sweetly with an arm around Tonks. Mr. And Mrs. Weasley snuggled close and watched wistfully. Harry and Ron snickered. Fred and George leaned against a wall, looking pleased. Dumbledore would be sparkly eyed and all smiles. Dumbledore was dead, would he be there? Of course, it was her imagination she'd put in who she pleased. She added her parents. They looked happy and healthy there in that hall in her mind. They were untouched by evil and color filled their cheeks.

The music was truly lovely. She did not recognize the song. Was it a wizarding classic or an original piece? She must find out. She opened her eyes to see Draco on the verge of laughing, probably at her. She thought of her mental picture and found herself equally amused. If only he knew what she was thinking. He'd be so mad! What was he thinking about anyway? He pressed against her as he lifted her into the air and what he thinking about suddenly became very clear as she brushed against his body.

Looking desperately away she took in the decorations once more. It was certainly a sight to behold. If she could just focus on the streamers and the music for a little longer... The song ended to melodious applause. As others joined the floor, an exhausted and exasperated Hermione moved to leave. A strong hand yanked her back. Draco had pulled her to him roughly. She grew instantly indignant and angry.

"Let go."

"No," he answered simply. Indeed he made no move to release her.

"I don't want to dance anymore. I'm tired. Let me go."

"No." She was outraged! What did he think he was doing? How dare he smile at her so malevolently? "I want us to enjoy our party."

She jerked away, but his hold her wrist was painfully tight. Draco took a stronger hold of her waist, and wrapped another hand around her back, pulling her close.

"We are going to erase all doubts that we are not involved with each other, or all is lost." She nodded, still pretty furious with the cad, but willing to oblige.

As the first notes of the song sang from the platform, she was a bit shocked. At least they wouldn't have to fake a smile for this one. Her face could look as furious and solid as she wanted and it would appear passionate and lustful.

At the hiss of a tambourine, he swung her from him with one arm and she spun dramatically. He pulled her towards him with both arms, her back to him. She frowned. The dance was an intimate one, and Draco was going to be hard to keep up with. Her heart flared with resentment, knowing this was all part of Lucius Malfoy's show. If done properly, it would remove all doubts that they were involved from the press and ministry. Gritting her teeth in anger and determination, she decided she was going to show him.

When they thrust violently away from each other; when he lifted her; when they held each other so viciously tight, it was a vent for their anger. What appeared to the crowd to be passionate fervor in the heat and speed of their steps was actually each trying desperately to out do the other. The other resumed watching them. The band was forced to speed up their playing. The way they seemed to be so in sync with one another was actually the direct result of each trying to ensure that the other did not humiliate them. They were forced into a romantic farce, made to work together unwillingly, and pushed to go on out a limb with trust. Irony was at work yet again. The event was truly unpleasant. She did not enjoy it one bit, and yet...

When the music stopped suddenly, they found themselves hot, panting, and in an absurdly intimate position, as was typical for Latin style ballroom dancing. Her head tipped backwards, she watched him leaning unreasonably close. She frowned and threw him a questioning glance as she realized, with a jolt of honest fear, that no one was clapping. It was as if they were expecting something else. Was there another tradition she was ignorant of? Truthfully, she never paid much attention to pureblood customs. There had been no need nor attraction. Now she wished desperately she had.

While trying to recall books in the Hogwarts library, she actually completely failed to notice his lips until they were touching hers. The kiss was as soft as either of them dared to make it, but their lips were hot and full from the exertion of the dance. She even fancied she could slightly feel his racing pulse as she pressed against him. Of course, they had just danced, so it was reasonable that their hearts were hammering away inside their chests. Squeezing her eyes shut, she tried to picture someone else- anyone else! Surprisingly, no one came to mind. Damn her pathetic imagination!

Slowly, because they both dreaded it so, they moved their lips against each others. Her eyes flew open. She was startled to feel the wet heat of a tongue slide across her lips, as if it were licking the remnants of something sweet from it's own. Gently, innocently, she kissed the corners of his mouth and parted her lips, ever so slightly, as they met again. Neither bothered to deepen the kiss, it was only a show after all. The breath she was holding in stung her lungs, and she desperately wished for this moment to end.

At that exact moment, there was an wild, roaring explosion. They pulled apart quickly, letting out gasps of both surprise and relief that it was over so abruptly. The crowd was gawking no longer at them, but the twirling lights and fiery combusting figures dancing across the domed ceiling above their heads. She recognized the handwork as Weasley's Wizard Wheezes: fireworks.

She gazed at them, mesmerized like a child, until she felt a hand tug her away. It led her, confusedly, through the mob and pulled out a chair for her. She sat.

A huge tower clock finished striking mid-night and the fireworks died out. The guests turned towards the faint tinkling of glass that followed the tolling of the bell.

Lucius made another grand speech and a toast as well. There were quite a few more toasts offered. In fact, there were so many, several of them rambling drunken speeches, that Hermione feared they may never get to eat the mountains of food that had appeared before them. Once the Head of House and his wife sat, everyone began feasting. What a feast it was! Not a dish, it seemed, of anything repeatable and delicious was left out. The tables were full of food and drink: fruit bowls, fresh breads, a couple of pigs, several turkeys, more then a few chickens and roasts, vegetables, sides, pies, cakes, and puddings. Each morsel she put into her watering mouth was rich, delicate, and flavorful. Hermione found herself dreadfully hungry after all that dancing, but forced herself to eat daintily and with greatest etiquette. With each careful movement and gentle cleaning of her fork, she seemed to be silently screaming: muggles have manners! It also allowed her the opputunity to savor each morsel.

Half way through the meal Draco's hand grabbed absurdly tightly around her thigh. She couldn't stop herself from jumping. "If you don't stop licking your fork in that manner," He growled, leaving the threat unfinished. She dropped the fork inconspicuously and leaned over to him as she might have done if she were really sitting beside her fiancee at her engagement party.

"Then what?" she whispered.

"Stop. People are looking at you and you're making me uncomfortable."

"How so?" He glared at hwe in response. Clea understanding dawning, she said more seriously: "I didn't even realize I was doing it." He looked slightly surprised, but soon recovered, offering her a nod.

She overheard many people comment on the food. One guest whispered something about the Malfoy family priding themselves of their cooking house elves. Everything tasted a little bitter in her mouth when she thought of that. She swallowed it, but ate no more.

She successfully managed to avoid most conversations and humiliation, but, once full, found herself fighting to keep her eyes open. Her eye lids had just grown extremely heavy and her eyes themselves quite cloudy. By the time the clock struck one, Lucius rose and Hermione rejoiced at the words of farewell that meant soon she'd be going to bed.

He thanked everyone for coming and for their splendid generosity. Everyone made to stand up. Draco pulled out Hermione's seat, and she only just stood in time to keep from toppling over. She took his arm and they made a formal exit. There was not, as she had feared, to be any waiting at the door to wish goodnight to all the guests; which was good as there was no way she could stifle the crude yawn gnawing at her any longer. They turned from the door and made their to the stairs.

A pair of buffets in the main hall caught her eye as they walked. Both were covered, every inch, with the most extravagant gifts. Her tired eyes flew open in shock and her heavy jaw fell.

"Wow," she murmured.

"You just noticed, didn't you?" Draco asked, sounding disappointed. She nodded sleepily. Once at the top, they turned and waved gratefully to the guests one final time before disappearing around the corner. She was very glad Draco accompanied her to her room, because she would never have made it otherwise and they would have found her sleeping in the hallway floor come morning.

As they reached the door she yawned, utterly exhausted. Draco sniffed arrogantly.

"Thank you for walking me," she offered, dropping her hand.

"It was on the way."

"Where's your room?"

"Why?"

"I was trying to find you earlier and didn't know where to look."

"Why were you looking for me?"

"I forgot my cat," she admitted bashfully.

"I'm not a bloody house elf. Tell one of them to go and get it for you." He, too, yawned.

"All right," she sighed, too tired to argue. "Thank you anyway."

"You're welcome. Good night."

"Night." She yawned again, offered a small appreciative smile, and stepped into the door.

"Granger,"

"Yes?"

"I'm next door."

"Oh."

"Well...Good night," he offered gruffly.

"Goodnight," replied Hermione, pleased, as she closed the door behind her.

_**A/N: **Thanks so much for reading! This chapter was a major challenge to write. Please tell me what you thought of it. It would be exceedingly helpful to know what you thought about characters, the dance, and the kiss for example. For those of you concerned that the Hermione/Draco is moving too fast, don't worry; these two are not in love...yet. This story will be long and contain some serious angst. _

_Again, please review! It helps so much. So far complaints have been against spelling names (my stupid word corrected them against my will), too short (I'm trying to make them longer), funny puncutation (thanks for pointing that out. I agree), and lack of originality (to this: stick around hehe). Most people felt Draco was in character and liked Knobby as well as the party idea/theme. Agree or Disagree?_


	8. Goodbye Mudblood

**Disclaimer: **Please see previous chapters.

_**A/N: **__First let me say how much I enjoyed reading the reviews for the last chapter. Thank you everyone! We passed the __100 reviews __mark. Woo-who! Someone was observant enough to point out that once I used the word "manner" in place of "manor". I do that often, but usually I catch it editing while my computer doesn't, for obvious reasons. Thanks and I'll make those corrections as soon as I get a chance. Also, someone was curious about Snape's loyalties. I purposely withheld that, but answers are coming. Glad to see so many enjoyed the dance and kiss. I re-wrote them about 5 times and was very unsure what you would think. Thanks for the feedback! Enjoy chapter 8!_

_**P.S. **__I know I'm not allowed to do this, but I want to credit and thank Sam Derevko for all the help._

**Chapter 8: **Good-bye Mudblood

Hermione sank into the feathery bed before her. It was warm, soft, and ever so inviting. She wanted nothing more at that moment than to allow it to swallow her up and for the blackness of sleep to envelope her completely. Her body was exhausted and her mind was weary. She felt so drained that she doubted she'd be able to raise her wand to an attacker and vaguely thought, as she was climbing in bed, that if it was the Malfoy's plan to attack her now, it would certainly prove a successful one. However, once she slid under the covers she forgot all about that notion. In fact, she was quite literally asleep before her head hit the pillow.

Only once was her sleep disturbed. In the dead of night, sometime around 3:00 a.m. she would estimate, she awoke with a start for no apparent reason. The hair on the back of her neck was standing up as she surveyed the absolute darkness of the room. Just as suddenly as the eerie mood had captured her, it slipped away and she slipped back into her shallow hibernation.

Although, subconsciously, Hermione had hoped to sleep until noon, soon enough she was to realize that was not to be the case. She was awoken around 9:30 am by the house elf she had seen earlier: Dumpy. He had prodded her awake with a large wooden spoon and was now pushing on to her lap a lovely breakfast.

"Why thank you, Dumpy," she attempted in her early morning groggy voice. Grumpy looked at first surprised, then agitated. 'Only a Malfoy's house elf would take a simple thank you as an insult,' she reflected sourly.

As she gazed down at her eggs, toast with jam, and grapefruit she became aware that she was hungry, something she didn't believe would ever happen again after last night's feast. Beside the food set a lovely cup of hot, breakfast tea, a single rose in a crystal vase, sugar cubes, and milk.

Just as she was about to dig in, preparing her tea and grapefruit with sugar, she spotted the elf staring at her with anticipation. It had always humored her the way the house elves seemed loved to see what people thought of their cooking. This elf, however, was giving her the strange feeling of apprehension Kreacher had a knack at giving. He looked especially eager. Perhaps he was hoping she'd choke on it. Maybe it was just his strange fit of fury from the day before that made her wary. Either way, she didn't exactly feel like being stared at, just then; so, she put down her tea cup and began polite conversation.

"Where is Knobby this morning?" He seemed to having been expecting her to ask that question.

"Knobby's not well, so Dumpy got Miss' breakfast this morning."

"Oh, dear. Is she ill?"

"No, she had a little bit of an accident in the kitchens."

"Oh, that's awful." Hermione was appalled, and hoped for details. Dumpy offered none. The house elf was still staring rudely. It dawned on her that if she only took a bite of her eggs, he might be satisfied and go away. She did so. The eggs were simply delicious.

"Hmm. Wonderful." That seemed to jolt him back to reality.

"Yes Miss. I hope Miss enjoys her breakfast."

"I'm sure I will. Thank you." Again, he cringed at the out-of-place manners. "Good-bye."

"Good-bye," he murmured. Then, under his breath, his back to her, he added: "mudblood."

'How obscenely rude!' she thought and frowned at the elf's receding back, but said nothing.

Once he had left through another set of door in the corner of the room that she suspected were just for house elves, she began to sip her tea and eat her breakfast. She'd need her energy today, and even as she chewed she could feel herself waking up and seeming to come back to life. The grapefruit was both sweet and tangy, pouring with its wonderful, sticky juice. She finished her eggs in not time. The jam was strawberry, her favorite, and homemade. The Malfoys must have gardens for it to be so fresh. She ate hungrily.

As she put another bite of sugary grapefruit into her mouth, she noticed it felt a bit too tangy and sticky. Perhaps the citrus acid was just more pronounced than she was expecting. Laying it aside, she moved on to the toast and sweet jam, but a bit of it seemed to get lodged in her throat. Immediately, she grabbed her tea to wash it down. She gulped it, choking on the bit of toast, but it scalded her whole throat. She swallowed hard, trying to get the piece down, but even as she felt it go, the awful sensation in her mouth and throat did not leave. It was unusually painful. She coughed and gasped for air. Touching her throat and chest, she noticed her breath was in fact strained. Her head usually light. Still, the pain did not ease. That is the moment Hermione Granger realized her drink had been poisoned.

As realization dawned, her eyes grew wide as a night owl and she tried to call for help. She could not manage it. Instead, she stumbled from the bed, coughing harder, wheezing, and trying to get regain her composure and catch her breath. It came increasingly more shallow and her sight began to blur. She felt as if her throat was on fire, as if she had accidentally swallowed a dragon healing potion.

Overcome with the urge to purge her body, she stuck out her tongue and retched, but even that brought no relief. Blurry eyed with pain and breathing roughly, but still coherent, she rushed frantically to the door. Wrenching it open, she proceeded to step out into the hall to scream for her help, but her coughing and sputtering disabled her from that. Panic began to bite at her. She could not die, not now, not like this! Moody would be furious with her. It was stupid to take food from the house elves. The hall was desperately empty.

Just as she began to feel lost and hopeless, somewhere in the pandemonium instinct and reason told her to open the door next to hers, recalling how last night Draco had said it was his. She did so, without so much as knocking, to find Draco sitting up in bed enjoying his taintless meal, topless, donning satiny, silvery pajama pants. Though Hermione was surprised, nothing could have prepared Draco for such a sight.

"Is this about that stupid fur ball of a cat?" He snapped.

To say that he was surprised to see Granger collapse at his doorstep after entering unannounced, colorless in the face, while coughing, gasping, and sputtering desperately, was the understatement of the century. Appalled was closer. Perhaps utterly disturbed would fit his expression. Nevertheless, he leapt from his bed and darted to her side.

"Have you been poisoned?" He asked, catching on quickly.

She nodded through the intense pain, her lungs begging for air, her head spinning unreasonably. God how it burned! She wanted to tell him that, but all she could manage was a nod. As he ran to a corner of the room she could not see, Hermione felt her lungs scream and wrench wildly for the oxygen she so severely needed. Fear and panic began to take hold as her senses began to desert her. She was felt herself shaking and trembling violently.

All at once, her eyes could see nothing, she felt like a fish pulled from the water, gills flapping hopelessly. All she could register was the pain coursing through her body, the tremendous pace of her beating heart, the feel of the floor beneath her, and a hand touching her skin. There was a hand gently tilting back her head, placing something in her mouth. It was cold and solid.

Finally, Hermione Granger could fight it no long. She collapsed.

When she came to again, she registered that she was laying in a huge, comfortable bed. A cold cloth was pressed to her face. Someone was calling her name.

"Hermione!" It stressed.

In a single and overwhelming rush, the events of this morning came back to her. Once again, her heart raced, as did her mind. The elf! The elf that had called her a mudblood must have poisoned her tea. She shivered again, recalling awaking in the middle of the night. Had he been watching her?

Where was she now? The bed in which she rested was larger even than hers in the guest room, it's giant columns attached to ceiling and floor. It's enormous down comforter was emerald green, it's sheets silk and silvery. A mountain of pillows supported her and, unless she was very much mistaken, the bed was not empty. She turned her head to see two grey blue eyes staring urgently down at her. A curtain of white blonde hair fell forwards into them. Draco.

She was in Draco's room, but how did she get there? She remembered trying to call for help, stumbling in there, seeing his surprise. It could not have happened very long ago, because his breakfast was spilled on the floor to her left, and still laid there. She had thought she was going to die. It felt so sure. She shivered.

"Hermione?"

"Yes?" she croaked. He breathed a visible sign of relief. For a moment, she felt a wave a friendliness at his concern before remembering how bad it would look if his fiancee were to be poisoned in her first day there. He could go to prison, or worse if Voldermort was alerted first.

"What happened?" she asked, still feeling miserably weak.

He raised an eyebrow. "You're going to have to tell me that."

"I was poisoned. I think it was that mad house elf that yelled at me yesterday. Dumpy."

"Dumpy?"

"Yes. He called me a mudblood and then Knobby had an accident in the kitchen. He brought me a breakfast tray and then watched me like- like he was w-waiting for something." Tears sprung to eyes, burning them. "Once he left, and I began eating it, I chocked and it burned and I realized he'd-he'd"

"Poisoned you," Draco finished for her.

"Yes. I remember trying to get help and remembering where you were and coming here. What happened next?"

"You started convulsing and were going a funny color in the face, so I got a bezoar from my packages for school and shoved it down your throat before you passed out. I put you in my bed and a used this cold rag to wake you up. You went sort of cold. For a moment there, I thought maybe you'd died."

"I was afraid of that too," she said softly. Even under the situation, she had to be pleased with Draco's unsuspected show of intellect. A bezoar. I guess there was something to be said about his potions potential.

"Well, are you all right now?"

"Yes, I suppose." She wasn't at all sure, but it felt like the only answer.

"Dumpy? I'll ask him about it at once. He can't lie to me."

"Maybe he was ordered to do so," she voiced her nagging fear.

"That wouldn't make any sense. Why would my father go through all that to have us married only to poison you? I certainly didn't do it. Why would I poison you and save you?"

"To gain my trust."

"You already trust me." It was true. She didn't like him, but she had to trust him or she would never have agreed to this.

"You're right." She admitted. He must know that so he could trust her as well, or they could both face death.

"I'll go take care of this," he said, suddenly very authoritative. "Stay here and rest. We'll be calling a healer to the manor, of course." He rose from his position of propping his body up on the pillows, half-laying sideways beside her. He slipped the rag into her hands, grabbed a royal blue robe, slipped it on, and left.

In the state she was currently in, she had not been able to become thoroughly embarrassed by her position or by his now completely bare chest. The toga last night had been seemed to tease her and the crowd with it's partial revealing of what promised to be a fine chest. This morning, her eyes had lingered on it when his eyes were turned, after the threat to her life was eliminated. If not for the toned muscles that stretched and rippled across his pale chest, he may be little more than skin and bones. A few unexpected freckles dotted his shoulders, collar bone, belly button area, and back. A fine trail of blonde hair, caught in the light of the room, crawled down his chest bone and disappeared beneath the silk of his pajamas. Why was she gawking at him?

She looked down at her own apparel. Last night she had though only of the comfort the silky cream night dress offered and how easy it was to slip on and off. Now, in the light of day, the very same traits unnerved her. Finding herself, or imagining others seeing her, in her fiancee's bed- Malfoy's, no less- wearing a short, silky night gown would certainly have caused her to blush furiously under usual conditions. Upon realizing this, she did exactly that as a delayed reaction.

Considering explaining the occurrence to her friends and the Order, she redden even darker. Ron and Harry may very well take vengeance against the house elf and kidnap her from the Malfoys. Also, the thought that only moments previously she had been so close to death made her feel no better. They would be disappointed at her foolishness. They may even want to call off the mission. Perhaps she could brush over those details in her diary report, or say that to not eat the food offered to her would have looked too suspicious.

By the time she heard footsteps bounding towards the room, she winced, well aware she was scarlet and was about to go bright cherry. Sure enough, in came Lucius Malfoy, Draco, and a slightly limping, obscenely bandaged Knobby. They rushed towards her and she covered her face with the rag, relishing its coolness, as she pretended to nurse herself rather than hide her embarrassment. Draco and Lucius both looked outraged.

"Are you alright Miss Granger? A professional is on the way," Lucius all but spat.

"I'm as well as can be expected, I suppose."

"Your face is terribly flushed." Lucius stopped short of actually reaching to touch her burning face, but handed the rag to Knobby to wet again. Draco sat gingerly by her side. Lucius seemed so furious by his slave's disgraceful behavior and the prospect of a possible ministry inquiry that he didn't seem to mind her being in Draco's bed and having him sit be her. Perhaps he wouldn't have cared anyway, or maybe he was confident nothing could have happened between them. Neither thought was comforting, so she stopped thinking about it. Instead, she resumed massaging her temples with the cool cloth.

"Knobby clean up this mess!" Lucius shouted irritably at the elf.

"Yes, sir. Right away master." Knobby squeaked and followed the orders.

"Go and see if our guest is here and show him to the room." Lucius said as soon as she finished. He paced back and forth through Draco's room as Draco watched the door intently, throwing Hermione a series of odd looks.

Moments later, the door was opened respectfully by Knooby and in strode a livid looking Snape.

"Professor Snape!" Hermione declared, utterly surprised. At first, she thought it was a terribly blunder on her part to exclaim so and was all too aware that her current condition would serve as little or no excuse to the vexed potion master/ spy. However, she quickly realized she should appear startled to see him and believe he was on Dumbledore's side. Lucky save.

"Of course," said Lucius, full of himself once again. "He's a good friend of the family and a master at potions."

"Well, it seems her abilities to both recognize people and to blurt out answers has not been effected by the poison." He came to her side, signaled Draco to move away, and performed a series of spells.

"It seems several poisons were administered. All were fairly simple, luckily, and curable by a bezoar. Clever. Draco. I'll still need to see the food to be sure. We wouldn't want to take any chances with her life." His voice dripped with sarcasm on his closing note.

Without waiting for the order that was sure to follow, Knobby apparated next door and back with Hermione's tainted tray. She looked away unable to look at the offending plater. Snape raised an eyebrow, but made no comment, and proceeded to examine the dishes closely. He sniffed them, brought a finger across each and licked it. That was, apparently, all it took for the skilled master to identify each poison used.

"The fruit was only slightly tainted and would not have been fatal. The jam was also contaminated and caused the inflamation of the air way. The tea was what really did it, one of the most effective and easiest to make. The effects are very painful and eventually shut down the liver. Although, why you would drink tea that came on a plate of tainted food is beyond me. I thought you were supposed to posses some manner of intellect."

"I-I didn't realize-"

He cut her off and handed her a potion he had produced from his robes. "You'll need to drink this to repair the damage done to your throat and digestive tract."

She hesitated. The others read it as mistrust, but the truth was that actually she wasn't to keen to swallow anything after that tea this morning. At Snape's impatient insistence, she attempted to swallow it only to cough it up several times.

A few minutes of her pathetic efforts later, Snape looked exasperated and Lucius angry. "I'm sorry. I am trying," she all but whined.

Out of virtually nowhere, Draco said: "Let me try."

Snape handed him the potion and stood back. As Draco sat down beside her once more she grew noticeably uncomfortable. He reached a hand around her neck and held her hair in his one hand against the back of her neck. The unexpected and unprecedented gesture made her shake with chills again. He put the bottle in her hands holding onto the both. He fixed his eyes upon hers with that intense stare he had, and, very slowly, lifted the vial to her mouth.

"Open,"He instructed licking his lips. Unbidden, hers parted. The glass felt cool on them as she recalled how terribly they had burned this morning. It soothed them. He rubbed her neck, distracting her, and tipped it in. She refused to swallow and her chest knotted in sudden panic and stubbornness.

"Hold it there." She held the liquid in her mouth and turned to look at him questioningly. He leaned forward and put his mouth next to her ear. He whispered: "I can she down your night gown." She gulped and immediately slapped him.

He looked away. Snape raised his eyebrows. Hermione blushed. Lucius covered his face in his hands. Draco laughed. The filthy rouge had tricked her and taken advantage of her half conscious state to do so!

"Well done." Snape recovered for her, addressing Draco. "She'll be fine now. I'll come again this evening to check on her."

"Thank you, Severus. Please join us for supper when you do." He nodded in response to Lucius' invitation and left.

"Dumpy!" Lucius shouted barely a moment later. With a crack the elf appeared. He looked surprisedly at Hermione, sitting up in bed alive, then his face was overcome with unmistakable dread. He trembled and cowered before the furious wizard in the black bathrobe with serpent emblem on the chest pocket.

"Did you poison the food of this guest?" Lucius went straight to the point.

"Sir, S-sir. Dumpy was trying to save Master Draco from ma-marrying this terrible, filthy mudblood-"

"Silence!" Lucius demanded. Draco, without any warning whatsoever, got up from his place in bed and struck the elf violently. Hermione gasped.

"How dare you harm anyone we take in and offer protection, let alone someone who is about to be a part of the this family, the family you serve! It is not your place to decide what's best for our family, nor is it your place to question your orders. You are a servant it is your place to serve and obey. You have shamed our family, failed to serve your purpose, and disobeyed directly. You know then penalty for such an offence!" He spat vehemently.

The elf dissolved into sobs, crumpled to the floor, and began to rock backwards and forwards. It distressed Hermione to see it, and she may even have intervened if she had not instantly recalled that, mere moments previously, this elf had tried to kill her and had nearly succeeded.

"Death," came Lucius' answer. The elf simply wailed and wailed.

"I failed!" Dumpy screamed madly. "I failed!" Draco grabbed his filthy tea cozy and threw him bodily, and roughly, from the room. The elf allowed himself to land on the floor, ungracefully, fall unbroken and painful. From there he continued to shake and weep as if in pain. He made no move to save himself. Hermione's stomach turned over on itself again.

"Say goodbye, Dumpy." Lucius instructed coldly.

"Good-bye, mudblood."

Hermione's blood chilled. She made no reply. No one defended her, of course. She was surprised at herself for finding that a small part of her actually half hoped someone might. They were only angry at the elf because he had risked blowing their false cover. A sad and oppressing realization passed over her. Her life meant less to them than their slave.

"I'll do it." Lucius addressed his son, and, composedly, took his leave. With a typical swish of his cloak, he made his way to execute one of his oldest servants. It sent chills down her spine. She vaguely wondered, even in her shocked and sickly state, if this was the elf that had nursed a young Lucius Malfoy in his sick bed, as Kreacher had once nursed a young Sirius. She recalled the look in his eyes when she met him, a hateful creature who could have no idea his end was so near. He had served so faithfully, and now he was to die by the hand whose honor he was trying to restore. Poor elf. Wicked or not, he didn't know any better.

Now she was afraid for herself as well. If she were to mess up, or was of no further use the Malfoy's, would he dispose of her in such a way, or feed her to Voldermort to torture first? The lack of respect for life she was seeing was staggering. It must take such an lack appreciation for it to be able to take it so mercilessly. Why had she ever agreed to this?

She glanced at Draco, as if hoping to find the answer there. The younger Malfoy stood at the closed door, shaking with anger. In the floor, a shocked little Knobby stood aghast and trembling, tears spilling down her cheeks, haphazard bandages askew.

"How dare he?" His teeth were gritted as he whispered angrily. "How dare he?"

He stalked towards Hermione and sat down again forcefully on his own bed, barely aware she was still laying helplessly there.

Emotions she had been fighting for days overcame her. Was she to suffer the same fate as the that awful Dumpy? What would she have to do for Draco? She owed him her life.

It wasn't until she felt the hand upon her cheek that she realized her face was wet. Why was her face wet? Oh yes, she was crying. It felt so strange to be crying. It had just escaped her without her consent or knowledge.

His arm seemed to move of its own accord to the rag in her hand and wipe her face. She drew in a shaky breath. That seemed to be enough to bring him to his senses. Looking around like a child caught stealing, he placed the rag down again and forced himself off the bed. Looking at his hands like they were burned, he staggered backwards. Again, he threw his eyes all around the room, in a manner not unlike that of a trapped animal, and backed up. As he looked at her, she was surprised to find his face covered with confusion and fear, as if he had realized his arrow had killed the sparrow, only to late. His helplessness soon vanished and was replaced by a fierce anger and loathing. He blamed her. He was furious with her. Why?

Her head spun painfully, she winced, squinting her eyes as the room darkened.

"Draco?" she managed, before she felt herself begin to fall away.

"Goodbye mudblood." For the third time she heard the words, but this time they brought no stab of hurt or shame. She had passed out and Draco had slipped from the room.

_**Important A/N: **__Were you surprised? This was one of my favorite chapters to write. Just as people expect the action to fall, it doesn't. I like a little action and surprise in my stories. I hope you do too. Check my profile for news of when up-dates are coming and a new challenge I pose to all my readers involving a sneak preview of a chapter before it's officially posted! Bear with me as I make my transition into University. There may be delays. As always, __**please review**__. A few seconds of your day can make mine and knowing what you think (good and not so good) helps me improve the story. _

_Also, if I the transition from my desktop to my laptop does not go smoothly, then the next chapter will wither be up tomorrow or in a couple weeks. Hopefully I can sort it all out. _


	9. The Diary

**Disclaimer**: I lay no claim to HP and related material. This is for entertainment only.

_**A/N:** Thank you so much for all of the reviews for the last chapter! I've been working hard to switch over computers and there were some complications, but I've fixed them and am finally able to post one the most important chapters yet. Thank you for your pateince. I'm not sure how long it will until I'm able to up-date again because so much of my time is already being taken up by classes and homework, but I will work hard to catch back up. Reviews are an excellent motivator._

_On that subject: brace yourselves, this is a long one. It was originay two chapters, but they were a tad short, so I turned them into one just for you guys who left such wonderful reviews and wanted a new chapter so badly. Enjoy and don't forget to tell me what you thought!_

**Stolen**

**Chapter 9:** The Diary

Hermione awoke to the feel of something warm against her leg. It was solid. It was fury. It tickled her calf. Her eyes shot open, she sat bolt upright, and ripped the covers off of her to find Crookshanks beside her.

"Crookshanks!" she practically squealed. She scooped the cat up in her arms, squeezing him tightly and cooing all over him. It was the happiest she'd felt since she'd found she was to marry Draco. Draco... he'd been loyal to her, really. Truly loyal. He'd even saved her life and she was well aware of both the magical and moral bond that formed as a direct result of this. However, did it begin the form of some other bond as well? Foolish notion.

On that topic: where was Draco anyway? Looking around, she realized she'd been put back in her own bed. When she had been in his room earlier, she had been quite shaken up by the whole ordeal and had taken advantage of his rare compassion, or pity, or remorse, by allowing him comfort her as the tears silently poured down her face. He had offered no false promises, spoke no pretend words of affection, but his quite presence had been enough. He had not grimaced and recoiled at her show of weakness, as she would have expected from him, but rather seemed to understand it. If only Ron and Harry had seen the gentle way he had wiped at her face, wrapped an arm around her, and sunk into the bed sheets beside her. They would not have believed their eyes, she was certain. Ron would say the debonair was pinning for something else. Could that be? Draco was known for his... appetite. But he, no doubt, could understand her momentary loss of control. Had Harry not said he had witnessed the boy go through a similar breakdown the year before? It would prove to him that he could trust her the way she was now confident that she could trust him. Yet, she was indebted to him.

Why, then had he suddenly changed and fled from the room. Why had he been so angry and so hateful again all of the sudden? There really was no understanding that boy. And Ron says women are complicated! Knobby appeared an instant later, interrupting her musings.

"Hello Miss!" Knobby said enthusiastically. "Knobby is so glad to find Miss feeling better."

"Why thank you Knobby. I do feel much better. Crookshanks is here as well."

"Yes, Miss. Knobby had him brought in first thing this morning. Master said to do it right away."

"Master? You didn't get him yourself?"

"No, Miss. Master Draco ordered it."

"Oh!"

"Is there anything I can get for you Miss?"

"No thank you, Knobby. How are you feeling?"

"Fine Miss. Dumpy just shoved Knobby into an oven is all, Miss. Knobby escaped."

"Oh dear."

"Miss must promise to call if Miss should need anything. Master Lucius says Knobby is to be the only elf to look after Miss Granger and Knobby shall do anything Miss pleases."

"Well, that's very generous of him, but not necessary. I can look after myself. I'm sure you have plenty of other work to do."

"No, Miss. They says this is to be Knobby's only job." The elf gave a big smile.

"Alright then. It will a pleasure to have you help me, I'm sure. I think I shall get dressed and write in my diary now, if you don't mind."

"Not all Miss." The elf bowed and turned to leave.

"Knobby!" she suddenly remembered.

"Yes?"

"What happened to Dumpy?"

The elf visibly shivered and Hermione instantly regretted ever asking.

"He was punished. Miss is safe now." The elf left Hermione sitting in bed with her mouth open.

Only partially recovered, she felt that she better immediately begin work with her diary. It only took a few moments for her to freshen up for the day. She picked out some robes of a midnight blue and moved to the roll top desk, removed the diary, and stared at the blank pages of parchment. If only she had come up with a way to memorize all the guests names. It was important, as Snape had said, but try as she might, only a few faces and names swam into her memory. Even if she could recall them all, it would difficult to pass such a list off as looking innocent.

'Well, best to begin at the beginning,' she supposed. 'No, not the beginning. When the Malfoys must believe I learned of the proposal. This morning.'

"Dear Diary,

I find myself compelled to confide in you, my most trusted friend, the strange series of events that have befallen me recently."

She stopped and reflected. It seemed appropriate. It definitely sounded like her, and the bit she had thrown in about 'most trusted friend' was a direct address to the Order reading this. They would catch on.

'Hmm,' she thought. 'This part, however, painstakingly it must be done, might be fun.'

She continued: "It is really odd when I remind myself that it was only a single day ago that Ginny and I were picking out clothes for this year. It feels like an eternity ago that I was bickering with Harry and Ron over finishing their homework. It was a whole other life. Now, I am to be married to Malfoy. Malfoy! But I suppose that I should start at the beginning.

"Yesterday morning, I was studying when I was told I had mail from the ministry. I found two proposals made under the new marriage law. Ghastly law! One was from my dear friend Ronald and the other was from Draco Malfoy-my _enemy_. I was shocked to say the least. Then, I found I had to go to tea at their estate almost immediately. I hurried over there to meet, and found myself talking, within minutes, to Lucius Malfoy! He said Ron may in danger if I chose not accept his proposal, so I did…Draco was a rather impressive dancer. I was so grateful for mum making me take those dancing lessons. I wonder where he learned it… Bellatrix Lestrange and Rita Skeeter were there! Dreadful old…Can you imagine...?"

Hermione did not know it, but, by the time she got to the kiss, she had been writing for hours. She put down her quill and thought hard about how this bit ought to be worded. She went over possible phrases in her head:

'It was quite suddenly and inexplicably that the kiss happened- no that was stupid.'

' It was horrendous-well, that wasn't entirely true.'

' Draco kissed me. It was the strangest feeling. As if I wasn't kissing Draco at all, but someone capable of love and warmth. My friends would think I was crazy to hear me say such a thing, and certainly don't feel myself at all. -That sounded good.'

While she began to write about being poisoned, she felt tears spring to hers eyes. She wiped them away angrily as she continued to force herself to write the words, telling Knobby she desired no lunch, thank you. Once she finished commenting on her outrage and registering her astonishment that the offending elf had been killed, she closed the diary on that note, deciding she desperately needed some fresh air. She had almost begun believing what she wrote about Draco's hidden, softer nature and that was dangerous.

Now, to find her way outside. She considered actually going to ask Draco how to get there. Why not? A knock on the door, however, told her he was not there. Perhaps he was still eating lunch with his parents, possibly discussing the events of last night or maybe even discussing her. Snape would probably yell at her if she told him she had left them to speak freely. Not wanting to dwell on that, she found the main stairs and descended. Leaving the imposing hall, she walked to the left hallway which she had come through when she first arrived at the manor.

She tried going straight down the long corridor towards the back of the house in hopes of encountering a door that would lead out back, but before she even made it that far, something else stopped her in her tracks.

She couldn't believe her eyes. It was monstrous. It was beautiful. Above the great double doors before her was written: "In Libris Libertas". She paused, dumbstruck, outside the entrance to the Malfoys' ancient library. The open doors seemed to beckon her inwards for her moment of restraint, then, she all but rushed in.

To her friends it had always been a mystery; her love affair with books. Reading and remembering had always come easy for Hermione Granger. She could remember being read to at an early age. It had been her favorite way to spend time with her parents. Her parents...

In school, being book clever was not only easy, but it was also a way to excel, to stand out, to be productive and even appreciated. The more she read, the more she wanted to read. It was exciting. There was so much out there and so many questions that could be answered. It was like an ocean of information ready to be sailed. How could anyone stand on the shore? How could anyone not like reading? The smell of books, old or fresh off the press, tingled her senses. The love potion with three scents she had encountered in her sixth year even contained one of those scents for her.

Books were powerful things, really. They had always impressed her, educated her, captivated her, and gave her window into worlds she would otherwise never come to know or understand. Once she had been accepted into Hogwarts, she had studied so much, knowing that she would be completely ignorant of an entire world and race. When life was trying and difficult or lonely, Hermione could lose herself and her problems in books.

Now, books were her once again her lifeline, but for a very different reason. They were a symbol of normalcy, of the old Hermione who used to read away the afternoon. Now she found herself jubilant, surrounded by mountains of them, each glittered like a gem to her eyes. Worlds may change, but libraries were still there. Truly the saying above the doors was fact: "In Libris Libertas; In books there is freedom".

Wall to wall bookshelves encompassed the room, raising to a second story level accessible only by an intricately designed, spindly spiral metal staircase, twirling upwards by the chimney. The ceiling was covered entirely in a painting, like the cysteine chapel, only it gave the distinct impression that the artist must have been very talented and slightly demented.

It was, at first glance, the clear night sky. However, the constellations that the twinkling stars outlined in a vast darkness, were exaggerated. The dragon seen in the constellation Draco, for instance, was not the scrawny, edgy figure the stars really cut, but, in the same place and style, a real looking dragon with clouds being blown furiously out of it's nostrils. Pegasus was a rather accurate horse skeleton with beautiful extended wings. Scorpius, the scorpion, was daemonic looking and rather detailed. His sting was unnaturally large. Delphinius, the frolicking dolphin, caught her eye. She smiled up at it. Aquilla, the eagle, was majestic in half-flight. Ursa major and minor, the bears, seemed to be sniffing the skies. It looked as if, slowly, all of them were gliding slightly and peacefully. In the center of the room, emitting a real glowing light, was the silvery moon, full.

She instantly loved the room, although, the titles of more than a few books and the aurora of many sections, made her uneasy. No doubt, her breathing increased as she realized, some of the most forbidden and ancient books known to the wizarding world were in the very room in which she now stood. It sent goose pimples on her bare arms. She examined the spines on the books nearest her. After a few minuets, she chose one with a unique title: The Tragic History of Casus Malfoy.

Hermione moved to the center of the room, which was covered by a rug, she could only imagine how expensive and old, of the near-black, darkest blue with silver stars all over it. It matched the assortment of celestial style couches, armchairs, and a chaise, scattered around. She curled up by the empty fireplace, tossing a matching fleece throw over her legs out of habit more than anything else, and opened the book, as curious as ever.

"Introduction. Perseus Malfoy. The death of Casus Malfoy was singularly tragic and devastating event for the entire Malfoy clan and, although a spot of blood on its history, also a mark of honor and courage."

'Honor and courage?' she wondered. 'Malfoy?'

"It is the duty of those that carry on the blood of such a being to remember the injustices done unto him and the remarkable strength which he showed. Each Malfoy, and pureblood alike, should become to be as familiar with the facts I have collected of his story as they are with their own personal history. Afterwards, they may walk forever forth with an air of honor and pride in the blood that flows through their veins, never forgetting their heritage and their allegiance to such men as Casus. May the horrors of his death never be repeated on any of his descendants and the loyalty he showed to his noble, magical blood be always repeated, in each of us. Hence our motto was changed at his death in everlasting memoriam from the ancient: Nulli Secundus to: "Cicatrix manet".

That was all there was of an introduction. Undeniably intrigued, Hermione delved further into the book until she was totally immersed. It began by with an abridged synopsis of the lineage of Malfoy as a family. It then proceeded with the birth, in 1540, of Casus Malfoy and the unusual circumstances under which it occurred. As the plot thickened with the mysterious execution of Casus' mother, Hermione failed to remember to keep an eye on the time and hours had passed before she was discovered.

"Miss!" yelped Knobby from the entrance. The elf looked panic stricken. Hermione, on impulse, stowed the book in the inner pocket of her robes. Hastily, she scrambled over to the door.

"What on earth is the matter, Knobby?" The elf's eyes were brimming tremendously. "What's wrong?"

"Knobby failed in her duty Miss. Knobby must be punished."

Unlike Dobby, this elf seemed at least hesitant to punish herself, or perhaps Malfoy had ordered her to allow him that liberty. She was becoming steadily more distraught. "What duty did you fail in Knobby?"

"Miss was not supposed to go anywhere without Knobby. Knobby was supposed to watch Miss' every move."

"Thank you Knobby, but as I said, its really not necessary."

"Not for you Miss, for Master. He said I was supposed to tell him everything and Miss left and Knobby has nothing to tell but that she lost Miss before tea and found her snooping." The elf was growing hysterical.

"Knobby calm down." Hermione commanded gently. "Now, there a must be a way to save both of us. Here, walk me back to my room, I'll get ready for tea and-"

"But Knobby will be in so much trouble. Miss was not supposed to wander. Knobby was supposed to report on what Miss said. See if Miss tried to contact her friends-"

"Knobby that's it!"

"What?"

"The diary! That's it, Knobby. You'll take my diary and tell them that you had to let me go to the library, so that you could take it from my desk. They can read it, and then put it back to continue to read more from it later."

"Take Miss' diary?" The elf looked horrified at the mere suggestion.

"Yes. Don't worry, Knobby. Trust me. Now hurry and get it while I get ready for tea."

"Yes Miss." The elf scampered off.

Hermione removed the book from her robe pocket for a moment and looked at it again. "The Tragic History of Casus Malfoy." The mystery of his death would just have to wait. She had a tea to attend.

She hurried upstairs to freshen up and make herself look presentable. Then, she hurried to the tea room at top speed, coming to an abrupt halt outside the door next to the tea room. It had a white door, identical to the one next to it, and there were harsh muffled sounds coming from within. She checked to see if the corridor was clear, and, then, pressed her ear to the door.

"Not supposed to let her out of your sight you foolish elf!" Lucius was in the middle of saying. Hermione heard Knobby whimper in a very Dobby-like way.

"I'm so sorry, Master, but Knobby must let Miss go to the library to do Knobby's plan, sir."

"Was your plan was to infuriate me and set loose a mudblood in my home?"

"No sir. Please, sir. Knobby knew miss would go to the library and Knobby let her, so Knobby could sneak the diary Miss was writing in from Miss' desk."

"Oh! So you thought you'd thought you'd allow a mudblood to wander the noble house of Malfoy while you snuck out her precious little d- her what?"

"Diary, sir."

There was a quiet moment in which the tension was so strong in could not be contained by the room and it seeped out into the hallway where Hermione waited anxiously for it to end. She was startled to hear Narcissa break the silence. The lady of the house had not spoken the whole time, and Hermione had not even known she was in there. She wondered if Draco was as well and, since he didn't know about the diary, whether he was as frightened as she suspected he must be.

"Well, well this is certainly surprising. A simple little elf like you thought up a clever little plan like that." Hermione fumed. How dare she assume that Knobby was so stupid, and tell her so! She should be thanking her!

"Knobby saw her writing in it and thought Master would want to know. If Knobby puts it back when Master's done, Master can keep reading the mudblood's thoughts without her knowing."

"Yes that all very good, but are you sure you've got the brain in your tiny little skull to come up with such a plan?"

"What does Lady Malfoy mean?"

"I mean, vermin, that was this your idea? Did you bring us this diary of your own accord?" Hermione gulped. She was screwed. Knobby could not lie and if they found out about the diary she was in serious, serious, trouble.

After a moment, in which Hermione held her breath painfully tight and tried to quiet her own heartbeat, the silence was broken by the timid elf.

"Yes, Miss." Hermione thought she heard the tiniest gasp issue from the room she was ease dropping on, but she couldn't be sure whether it was from Knobby or Draco. She hoped no one had heard her own.

"Well done, Knobby. Leave." Narcissa instructed.

"Yes ma'am."

"I will call you to replace the diary as tea ends."

"Yes, ma'am."

That was it. Hermione heard the pop that meant the elf had left the room. No reward whatsoever? If she were not so surprised she could have managed outrage.

"Lucius, you know what this means?"

"That we hold a window into the heart of a mudblood brat?"

"Exactly. She may write about Potter, dear, or Order business. She may give away something important. Draco may even be able to woo her and get her properly under his finger. She's already in his debt, but if she fell in love with him..."

"It would give us a great advantage."

"The Dark Lord would be pleased."

"What say you, Draco? Would you enjoy playing with her mind and breaking her pathetic little heart?"

"Yes, father."

"You sound reluctant Draco. Not having feelings for the muggle brat, are we?"

'No,' thought Hermione, 'He's scared out of his wits about what I could have written.'

"No father! I hate that snooping know-it-all! What a filthy mudblood."

"You were kind to her earlier."

"So she would think she could trust me. She owes me her life. She can't deny me anything."

"You enjoy the power?"

"Very much." It sounded like he was telling the truth about the love of control. Perhaps he was. She scowled in disgust.

Lucius laughed. "You should read this. It's is rather entertaining. Apparently, Draco, you are possibly capable of love and warmth."

"Stupid mudblood." He sounded relieved.

"Proceed to the tea room, Draco. The girl is waiting for you. I'll be there soon."

"Yes mother."

He was walking towards the door. Hermione jumped backwards, only to collide with a small, round marble table, balancing a vase of flowers. She landed on her butt roughly and knocked over the table and vase, breaking them at the exact moment the door swung open.

'Oh God!' she chastised herself. 'All the subtly of a real spy. Pride of the Scotland yard.' Draco had looked startled at first, then quickly changed to angry, and then rolled his eyes.

"Draco what was that noise?" came the anxious and annoyed voice of Laces from inside. Hermione, helpless and overwhelmingly sore, laid on the hard marble floor at his feet as he stared distastefully down at her. Once again that day, she held her breath.

"Draco?" his mother asked. He smirked. He wouldn't dare! He was just teasing her, wasn't he?

"Draco, what was that blasted noise?" his father repeated impatiently.

"It's just that stupid fur ball."Hermione threw him a glorious I'm-going-to-straggle-you-and enjoy-it-immensely look._ "_Dumb cat." He laughed as he pulled the white door closed behind him.

Hermione had been seated in the notorious tea room for only a few minutes before she reached a very startling conclusion. She was not actually to have any say in her wedding to Malfoy at all.

Narcissa had chosen spring as the perfect time for the wedding without any regard to Hermione' feelings that she had always dreamed of a winter wedding. When it came time to chose the colors for the wedding, Narcissa insisted upon lilac and gold and did not glance towards Hermione's polite protests that she thought red and white were a finer choice, though gold could certainly be incorporated. A copy of the guest list was handed to Hermione and no questions were posed. It was then that Hermione realized that not only was her presence not to be acknowledge by the lady of Malfoy manor, but by default, her ideas too were meaningless.

With a slightly depressed sigh, she turned her gaze to the now open window and scowered the horizon for the birds she had once saw soar just outside. She tried not to listen to Draco's mother discuss flowers because Hermione wanted white Orchids and red poinsettias, but that was not to be. Instead there would be lilacs and rare golden roses. Where Hermione would have placed hovering candles and flowers as center pieces, Narissa had already arranged for extravagant bouquets of white and gold, centered with unicorn horns.

At least, Hermione tried to reassure herself, it wasn't her real wedding. This was one that would never really occur, so she allowed Narcissa to plan joyously with her son, without once mentioning or taking note of Hermione, an event that would never actually occur.

All the same, she could not pretend not to take some offence to Narcissa Malfoy's purposeful resolution to ignore Hermione presence. She had not expected to be welcomed with open arms into the family. She had expected rudeness and exclusion, but to refuse to acknowledge her existence completely was a cruelty for which Hermione was not prepared Then, she chastised herself for such selfishness. She was lucky she wasn't being beaten or starved.

Then, for the first time, a horrible fear crept into her mind like a thief in the night. If the ministry fell, that assurance would fail. Her safety would depend on the mercy of the Malfoys. She did not think that left her much hope. Perhaps Draco would be different, she wondered. She found herself brooding and hoping for the next hour. Perhaps that soft spot she had written about in her diary was really there. Perhaps there was a glimmer of compassion in his dark heart. Then again, he may be fooling her.

Even as she dared to dream, she also doubted. She felt suddenly trapped. As she sat there, forced to dwell on such feelings, she grew desperate for fresh air.

"If you'll excuse me, please, I think I need to step outside." Hermione interjected, as quietly as she could, and rose gently from her chair by the window, heading towards the door.

With all he grace of a deadly leopardess, Narcissa Malfoy rose from her chair as well, moving in what seemed to be a single fluid motion , blocking Hermione's way out. Standing before her, brought up to full height, finally addressing Hermione's presence made Hermione wish she was once again insignificant and invisible. The woman was more intimidating than her husband when she felt the need. Hermione, for a moment, felt her nerve falter.

"I-I was only headed out for a breath of fresh a-" She did not finish her week sentence in time. A hand struck her so hard against her face her head was slung aside, blood instantly evident to her taste buds, actually thrown off-balance. She stumbled in the general direction of the chair, but missed it and landed, without a scrap of dignity, on the floor.

Her eyes filled with teas at such humiliation, Hermione kept them trained upon the elegant carpet. For the first time, Narcissa addressed her.

"Take these. Send proper thank you notes to the guests of the party." It was nothing more than an order, spoken as one might speak to a house elf. Perhaps it was the only way she could justify speaking to a muggleborn. Narcissa threw down the document before her, as if to touch it as she placed in Hermione's hands would risk dangerous contamination. She walked away.

Hermione stood, back straight, shoulders back. She bent down and picked up the papers, and left without a word. Once in the hall, she let the quiet sob escape her and tears burned her cheeks. She fled immediately to her room.

This had to be tone of the worst days she had ever experienced and it was really only her first day there. So far she had been poisoned, embarrassed by Draco, seen two house elves hurt because she was there, found the wonderful library, tricked Lucius, saved Knobby, been saved by Draco, and been slapped by Narcissa. All in all, it hadn't been entirely unsuccessful, but it had been pretty stressful and miserable and she still had a dinner to attend. Frankly, she did not think she could manage. Being that she was poisoned just this morning, she may be able to use the excuse she was not feeling well. It may give Narcissa satisfaction of thinking Hermione was too frighten or ashamed to face her again, though. Her pride may be injured, but the mission would be helped by such an impression. She wasn't going to eat anyway.

The question remained: what was to be done about the thanks you notes. She looked at the piece of paper to find a long list with the names of each guest, their address, their costume, their title, and a small notation indicating the gift they had left for the happy couple. It did not escape her notice that she had not seen one of said gifts. Not altogether surprised, she decided she might as well begin working on it as Narcissa would expect them to be done and she knew it would be working against her goal to make the lady of Malfoy Manor displeased with her. She grimace at the mere thought of it.

Organized as always, Hermione began by opening the drawer to extract a piece of paper upon which to copy the list in a different fashion and set it up to mark it off as she finished. It was when she did this that one of her more brilliant ideas occurred t her, and, of course, that is saying something. Laying their peacefully, in the bottom of her desk drawer was the diary, faithfully replaced by Knobby. She smiled at that, her plan working like a well cast charm. She even huffed out a small laugh at her own cunning, before another stroke of genius crossed her. The diary! Once again the diary was a tool whose usefulness she had fully underestimated.

Snape had asked her for information of the guests at the party and she had disappointed him by only being able to recall a few names and almost no information. Admittedly, she had been a tad bit disappointed in herself; that her distress had caused her usual quick wit to dampen. She had before her, in her hands, brought to her by the Order and Narcissa own cruelness, a way to amend that shortcoming. In her diary she would write what appeared to be a note to herself regarding the list. She would also include a copy, names, titles, and addresses, of each of the people in attendance of the Malfoy's party. Innocently, she headed the paper: "Guests". Then, she nearly squealed with excitement.

It was perfect, brilliant, that she the Malfoy's laughing over her seemingly pathetic diary, unknowing that they were actually passing information to the Order. A neat freak's list of duties they would no doubt have a joke over was actually being delivered from their hands into their enemies. It was such a sweet revenge. upon the wicked woman who had struck her as well as a way to prove her usefulnes to the order, which may very have been at stake. She wondered how they would react to reading such a entry, what the knowledge may do for them.

Perhaps, at first, they would roll their eyes at such a list, thinking it may be a list to throw them off. Their eyes would widen in amazement as they realized what they were seeing. Perhaps someone would make a sudden exclamation calling the others to attention. They may even be others who doubted her going on this mission. She would prove Snape wrong! It was such a high lift to her spirits. Ron and Harry would be so proud, some of her bigger supporters even say "I knew it all along." or "What did I tell you? " or "That's our Hermione!" Such thoughts made her glow with a sudden feeling of warmth and vindication and justice. Pleased with herself, she scrambled to copy the list to a tea. She included all the details she could and even drafted false thank you notes, to make it appear benign to the Malfoys. She even added a tear stained long rant about how hurt she was with Narcissa hitting her. I was a pathetic and whiny as she could bear it to be. She knew they would be distracted I relishing this to think on the organizational notes of a know-it-all.

She hurried to finish, but checked it carefully, one mistake could mean one in the Order would pay dearly. Twice Knobby came to ask if she wanted dinner, but, busy with her work, she declined both offers. After an hour of writing in which he eyes became cloudy and dry, all at once she heard approaching footsteps. She quickly scribbled out the rest of the intended entry and paused in horror to listen to the steady thumps grow louder. Vaguely, she was reminded of muggle horror flicks. Tossing the thought away she leapt into bed, as she was supposed to be feeling dreadfully weak.

Without so much as knock, Severus Snape came striding in, unaccompanied. He shut the door with a snap and continued towards the bed. Standing over her in that intimidating air he always retained, he seemed to loom even more than usual, although she never really imagined that possible. He flicked his wand over her and took out a bottle and small bag of vials and certain dry ingredients.

"There are some in the Order, who feel that this mission was a poor idea. They think you are in grave danger and there is little you can do here."

Hermione did not respond. A painful, heavy lump had solidified in her throat. Her fears were confirmed. Snape did not share his personal views on the matter, but instead, surprised her by asking: "What do you think?"

She could not begin to explain the sudden presence of tears in her eyes; it had been a difficult day. With a steady breath she replied: "I think the idea of the mission was an extreme one, but a brilliant one. What could have meant the worst to me, Draco, or the both of us. We've managed to turn around for us and the order. The idea, whether it works or not, was a good one." It was his idea, she knew, and he would not take too kindly to such comments that certain order members made. Truthfully, as crazy as the idea sounded, it was good, again, in theory.

"Many things look good in theory, but do not work out. Some have disastrous consequences. You have learned enough to be aware of that."

Yes," she accented the point. "Desperate times call for desperate measures. I also learned in school that sometimes risks must be taken for real action t be taken."

"I don't think that's in the curriculum."

She laughed half heartedly. "I would expect not, not even at Hogwarts."

"And the danger?" He asked, not able to keep the insult from his tones.

"We are all in grave danger. All of us. I am in less danger than most." He nodded affirmatively as he continued his work upon the beside table.

"And the last bit?" he asked after a pause.

"The last bit?"

"Do you think that you can serve sufficient purpose for the order here, or are you just placing yourself in danger with no equal return?" His tone was by no means devoid of accusation. Even so, armed with her new plan, she felt the tightness in her throat loosen a little.

"Well, as for use, I'm not sure. Would the Order have any use for a list of names, occupation, relationship to the Malfoys, and the addresses of each of their guests."

Snape may not have showed his surprise, but she had a feeling that his ears had perked up.

"We might. How, pray tell, would we go about collecting said documents?"

"Oh, I'll just have to think of something," she grinned mischievously. He looked at her piercingly, neither amused nor displeased.

Handing her the bottle with a sketical, yet intrigued, expression he murmurred: "We shall see."

_**A/N:** The ending was tricky to write. What was your favorite part? Any things you'd rather weren't in there? What do you want to see happen next? Any guesses about what may be important later on? Please share your questions and opinions in a review! It's an amazing tool for improvement and a great way to tell a writer: keep going, I enjoy your story. Thank you._


	10. Stepping Outside

_**A/N:** So sorry for the delay. As most of you know the transition into college has gone well, but I've been absolutely overwhelmed with work and personal problems. To find out about future when chapters will be posted, and_ other_ important information, please check my profile. __It's quick, thorough,__ and up-dated almost daily. Hope you enjoy this chapter! Thanks so much for all the reviews! There were some really good questions, a few great suggestions, and tons of encouragement. You guys broke my record for most reviews for a chapter! Thanks!_

**Stolen**

**Chapter 10:** Stepping Outside

Hermione awoke dreadfully early. She had slept fitfully, plagued with nightmares throughout the night. In one, she was caught up in the midst of the wedding of her dreams, but, when she reached the alter, she was facing a pale and red-eyed Voldermort who was grinning mincingly at her. In another, she wandered aimlessly in her elegant wedding dress around Malfoy manor at midnight, lost in its massive dark corridors, covering her ears from the unreasonably loud tolling of the clock. In still another, Narcissa Malfoy accosted Hermione, as she laughed with her friends in the Hogwarts courtyard, and ripped her wedding dress to shreds. Consequently, she awoke in all together foul mood and magiced away her breakfast tray the instant Knobby left the room. The elf had been a bit too cheerful this early for her liking, and, although Hermione had been friendly and patient as ever, she had no desire for all that chat this morning. After the night she'd endured she was simply not in the mood for anyone, despite her resilient triumph of the previous evening. At the proud recollection of that small victory however, she smiled a little in spite of herself.

She then moved resentfully to the desk, still in her clothes from yesterday in which she had fallen asleep. Her hair a mess and her eyes still sleepy, she set to work on the inevitable task of completing the mountains of thank you notes. Within half an hour of beginning them, she was cursing whole-heartedly the idiot who had thought up the custom. Everything she composed to illustrate gratefulness sounded nothing short of retarded and she felt rather 'Ron-ish' about the whole mess, actually slumping in her seat and dragging the torture out by attempting, only half-heartedly, to think up ways of avoiding the forced labor. No strokes of brilliance came to her this morning.

Huffing in defeat, she eventually buckled down and forced her way through stacks of formal paper, telling herself it was, at the very least, the perfect opportunity to practice her calligraphy, which she had always wanted to perfect. Also, while she suspected that nothing she ever did would suit Narcissa Malfoy and this was probably just busy work she would have an elf re-do, it may well be another chance to prove her muggle manners of surprising worth yet again. She relished the opportunity, taking great care to study the guidelines for such formalities as wizarding thank you notes by consulting a book in her room on Pureblood Etiquette and Customs, by Patricia Goyle. Unfortunately, each note also had a tricky little bow to be tied when it was competed- not to mention it had to be folded the correct number of times- so finishing was even easier said than done.

At last, after working painstakingly for hours, she proudly completed the task. Wrapping them neatly in a box of tissue paper she placed a note on top of them to indicate to Knobby that they were to be given to Madam Malfoy. She then stood to stretch and examine her hands. After washing off the layers of ink, she found a grand total of 27 paper cuts. She healed them and applied a salve to work out the cramps.

Finally liberated from the desk, Hermione allowed herself a nice, long bath and felt much better after freshening up. Not happy by any means, she at least felt clean, if a little hungry. She simply couldn't bring herself to try any food brought to her since the incident. The pattern continued at lunch time, when she politely refused another meal. Knobby looked concerned, but Hermione shook her off uninterestedly, insisting she never ate when she was busy. The elf left her to write in her diary.

Even as she opened the desk to withdraw the notorious black leather book of her most secret correspondence, her hand glided over it involuntarily to lift instead that strange artifact that had plagued her consciousness even in yesterday's panic: The Tragic Personal History of Casus Malfoy. The questions that had haunted her thoughts returned in full force. Who was this Casus Malfoy? Why was he not in The History of Magic and yet why did he sound familiar? What was so tragic about his personal history? What was that from the introduction: "heritage and allegiance…horrors of his death…Nulli Secundus…Ciatrix Manet…"?

It had sucked her and there was no escaping it.

'Bloody diary be damned!' she thought, and, within minuets, Hermione was oblivious to all and engulfed in her book. 'Although,' she reminded herself, 'it's not actually my book.'

She had stolen it from the Malfoys ancient library. She giggled at the idea of being so mischievous. Soon, however, all giggling was thrown aside.

"Chapter 1: An Age of Blood and Fear, Casus Malfoy's Birth

"By 1680, most wizards, unable to exist peacefully with the lesser race, had retired unto themselves."

'Lesser race?' Hermione mind growled.

"For the first time since the ancient wars of Britain, 'all magical' communities began to spring up all over the world. The British Isles remained particularly divided. However, after no significant number of years, a new liberal wave of ignorant and lesser born wizarding families would attempt move back into neighborhoods not of their own kind. In simpler words, out of hope for financial gain during an economic slope, many wizarding families would migrate to neighborhoods infested with muggles. In defense of their act of treason against their own race, they preached tolerance and equality of the races. These people called for the rest to not only tolerate, but also seek peace with non-magical beings. Those they asked the purebloods to pity were the very people that had committed atrocities against them simply for the crime of possessing powers and knowledge they could not. The horrific chain of events had occurred less than 300 year previously, and yet some were willing to throw that aside. Let us not forget that the sufferings we, as a race, underwent, although hidden by time, are no more forgivable now than they were 300 years ago.

"In that time, the age in which Casus Malfoy would be born, the foolish breed of muggles had never been so presumptuous, gullible, paranoid or vindictive. That unfortunate combination of characteristics- all too common among muggles- was what bought their bloodthirsty reign of terror to its peak. Wizards and witches everywhere, from Bavaria, to the British Isles, to Romania, even across the sea to the New World, were living in absolute terror. They feared that the muggles' xenophobia would cost them their lives and the lives of their family, even innocent children.

'Oh are we 'gullible, paranoid, and vindictive'?' Hermione frowned fiercely at the pages. Even as she fretted over the book's wording she could not argue with the perspective that some could see it that way. While wizard's hands were by no means innocent, there was frankly no defense for the witch hunts. She shuddered at the mere memory of tales she had heard in the history of magic of witch trials and executions.

"It is vital that it be understood that this condition can be directly traced to the fact that never before this time had muggles been so in control of the government, nor overtaken by such suspicion in trend and religious zeal. However, persecution of wizarding blood was by no means a new phoneme. The dramatic rise of this perception in the muggles was due largely to the Church's controversial and dramatic period of growth and several vengeful squibs, such as Percival Knotting (also known as Matthew Hopkins, witch finder general). Death totals from the year 1690 alone were innumerable and the horror stories endless. Most learned wizards agree that had The International Statue for Secrecy not been passed in 1692 the rampage would not have stopped there.

"It had been at time of panic and pandemonium everywhere. Begun in a jealous fit a rage, the Great Witch Hunt had wreaked havoc and pain in a way no event in our history had. We were being persecuted by the masses, and why? It was for the very thing which made our race superior: the very magic in our blood. The muggles who slaughtered hundreds of magical peoples during this era of terror and bloodthirstiness supposed that were given our magic by evil alone and invented fantastic stories of our intercourse with the devil and nursing of demons.

"What complete cadswollop, as Hagrid would say, nursing demons, worshiping Satan, and all that nonsense." Hermione spoke aloud to her text.

"In their mass hysteria muggles had even slaughtered their own people. They were cannibalistic, superstitious, and genocidal to a degree unequaled by few in history, such as Hitler's regime f Nazis in recent war. Never, in our history, has Wizard kind known such unrighteous persecution, nor appalling hunger for blood as it did in those days, when panic gave way to new breed of evil among men and innocent blood filled the squares of towns world-wide.

"Even with those facts etched along the pages of our history, some dared to claim that a race that nearly exterminated ours was harmless. They took pity on their inability to do magic, forgetting the crimes done against their own blood in favor of the cheaper real estate and, at the time, more expansive economy and wider occupational possibilities. The poor favored this new idea of muggle pacification much more than people of a more prestigious genealogy. These families went so far as to accuse older and more respected families, in reciprocation to claims that their behavior could be considered treacherous, of Dark Arts and other such negative slander.

'Slander?' thought Hermione 'Hardly.'

"In truth, it was a time of the greatest exploration and expansion of the darkest arts in history. No one, since Pharaohs and priests of ancient Egypt, had made such progress. At time of magic so dark and deeds so heinous they people who committed them rarely confess their existence a new evil emerged. Among these was the development of Horcruxes."

She felt herself barely contain a gasp and hers eyes jumped at the word printed inconspicuously on the page.

"However, the Malfoy family was by no means taking place in these acts, nor in the attacks upon muggles. Many not so wicked as the first dark wizards of that particular age were sucked into the following by promises that only Dark Magic spells could fend off the muggles. The Malfoys were no such family. In fact, Persues Malfoy, Casus's father was known to give healing to suffering muggles they could not acquire in their own world. No good deed goes unpunished. "Those who were not as secure financially and not directly effected by such horrors that those years for terror produced, must have felt an inexplicable temptation to turn their back on the past victims and their own world to regain finical standing. For some this temptation was too great. Many followed these traitors, and, over time, there were muggle protection laws, crusaders for muggle rights, and even marriage to muggles had become respectable among that growing sector of wizards. Hogwarts school continued to allow people who had come from no apparent magical heritage to come to the school and learn the arts, despite their predispositions.

"The battle lines were clearly drawn: there were those for forgiveness and growth, and those who remained firm and loyal to their fallen ancestors; the Malfoys in particular. They could never fool themselves sin believing, for any amount of gold, that the death of those like Casus Malfoy was excusable. In 1692 the Ministry of Magic had even ruled that to remain out in the open was no longer a possibility to the survival of the magical race and they must take measures to create a and of barrier which, for the safety of all, could never be breached as it could never be known when these muggles would lose their heads again.

"Even in modern legislation, such precautions have not been thrown off. This serves as sparkling evidence hat the truth is there, obvious as ever. Muggles, not endowed with magic as we are, are, by nature, a less powerful and more mutinous group of beings. They are dangerous and not be trusted. To the noble, the events that passed in the year of 1850 were a bloodstain upon history that no amount of time could siphon off."

Finally she tossed the book into the drawer with a frustrated growl. Rubbish, all of it, rubbish! How outlandish could this historian be? Terms like "lesser race" still made her skin crawl. Reflecting more calmly she tried to see it for the first time for the pureblood perspective. She knoew what is was like to be persecuted for something she could not help. If she looked at from that point of view, the to the extremely loyal it could be seen as nasty as any deep betrayal to side with muggles over family. Was that what Malfoy thought of every time he called her a mudblood? Isn't it the same sort of connotation Malfoy's name had for her, Ron, and Harry? Neither was fair. How could people, even in a depression, take the side of people that had tried to eliminate their race? The death of Casus Malfoy was not something to be forgotten so easily, was it? How clear it all became. All of Draco's odd decisions, all of his seemingly selfish and cowardice actions, all his blind following and taught hatred; all of this was generated by one thing: loyalty to his family. It was his first priority and his most important value. When she thought about it, she really began to understand, and she wondered if perhaps his loyalty wasn't actually a strength just badly placed? After all, wasn't it a trait she had always admired, one she held with her friends and the Order? Was it really so hard to believe how he had turned out then like he was?

The realization shook her. Her skin rippled unpleasantly with goose pimples. Unbidden, a flash of Sanpe's instruction came to her. What was that he had said? The dark arts could creep in unseen and unfelt? They would be on you before you sensed it. The book gave her an odd feeling now, like she was holding something dangerous, or nasty. She slammed the drawer shut, pushed the thoughts from her mind, and swept from the room, desperate for fresh air. This time she was bent and determined to find her way outside. She needed to see the sky and feel fresh air move against her skin and through her hair.

Thus, she winded her way down the stairs drifting along the infamous hallway of elaborate marble archways to the right until she reached its end. Before her there was a pair of French doors. She tried peaking around the corner to check that the coast was clear, but the glass was rippled, not entirely transparent, and partially obscured by pink velvet curtains and golden tassels. Not wanting to turn back now she tentatively opened it. The room was empty, but she could not contain her expression of shock any less then if there had been a dozen or so Death Eaters present.

It was comprised on one side entirely of windows and mirrors, and, as a result, felt unnaturally warm and bright. The others walls were draped entirely in coral velvet. The colors of everything in the room were white, gold, and coral. The sunny sitting room was lovely, but did not hold her interest for long, for the view of outside was even more enticing. She strode immediately to the doors opposite her and was outside in the time it took her to blink.

She had to blink again several times before she could take in the bright outdoors and the beautiful summer's day she was now enveloped in. The air was warm and thick, sweet with nectar and flowery perfumes, but was beginning to cool as evening clouds settled in overhead. The beauty of the place startled her even now. She was at the head of a long stretch of garden path, comprised of perfectly smooth, dark, tiny stones. The path ran the edges of a perfect rectangle, roughly the size of the Great Hall of Hogwarts, lined neatly on the outside by blossoming trees and filled in the center by waist high hedges. In the center, the path cut into the hedges to create a circle around the glistening fountain there. The fountain's waters, not at all unpleasant, were loud enough to be heard from the marble back steps of the house. On each end of said steps were two massive vases, upon them Hermione noted, were a snake and dragon intertwined within a circle bearing also the Malfoy motto: Ciatrix Manet. To herself, she mumbled: "The mark remains." With curiosity she regarded the gardens as she descended the few wide steps into them and eyed the fountain. What was the statue's form from which the water poured?

She headed towards the figure, her curiosity getting the better of her, happy with the sound and feel of the tiny, black stone crunching underneath her shoes.

From the hedges, large blossomed golden, ivory white, and pink flowers popped open. Their pollen glittered and gave off an intoxicating, delicate scent it was pleasant to breathe in as she passed. Closing in upon the object of her interest, she grew even more puzzled. Why would the Malfoy's, a family of Slytherin heritage, have a bird statue in their fountain? As she approached, she was impressed by the sheer size of the sculpture, as well as with its detail and lovely shine, despite its apparent years outside. It was a bird from whose slightly open beak water, rather than sound, poured. Its sweet trickling was a sort of out-of-place peace, for the statue itself was a bit disconcerting.

The sculpture was, she now recognized, a massive golden eagle, with wingspan spread out and properly displayed. The eagle was a bit larger than life size and appeared to be bronze. Rather than gazing up at the expanse of the sky or ahead with a piercing glare to those walking along the path, the bird was looking down, eyes narrowed, as if it glimpsed his prey and about to descend upon it. The expression the bird wore was one that spoke clearly that he wise and dangerous. His very form radiated power. The animal was adorned with wreaths of flowers, like a statue of saint or a Caesar might be. The pool that the water cascaded into was made of pure marble, dotted with a few of the petals that had apparently fallen from the wings of the great bird. Along the rim was inscribed a quote which read: "It is the false sham of fools to try and conceal wounds that have not healed."-Horace.

"Ciatrix Manet: the mark remains." She sighed.

Even as she stared at it, the inscription changed: "It is of no consequence of what parents a man is born as long as he be a man of merit."

She gave a small start. It had read her thoughts. Horace had once said the same thing, she had recalled ironically. Before she could appreciate it fully, a new line of writing was being scrawled along the edge of the fountain. It replied: "Undeservedly, you will atone for the sins of your fathers."

Hers eyes rose to meet the ones of the bird which was glaring at her. Where were the words coming from? She stared back at it, refusing to be intimidated. She turned on her heel and wandered of the direction of the trees. She slipped between a gap in between a pair of birches and found herself in the true garden of the Manor.

Hermione had expected arrogant red roses and neatly trimmed hedges wall, as orderly and massive as everything else the Malfoy's possessed, but this side of the Malfoy's garden was full of wonder, wild antique beauty, and surprise. It was warm and bright, filling the air with intoxicating, inescapably romantic scents. She let her eyes soak in the color and allowed her skin the luxury of feeling the summer warmth as she breathed in the smell of a plush garden hungrily. The vines of ivy had been growing freely for years now, but were trimmed from the path. The hedges were uneven in places, but they flowed over with a gentle grace and their crowded edges kept the turns concealed. The path wove carefree and mysterious, full on all side of bright blues, reds, pinks, purples, and oranges in a sea of green.

Hermione wandered at a quick pace threw the garden, taking things in, stretching her legs, and beginning to feel more alive and fee than she had since she arrived. For a while, the moments strung leisurely together as such, until, however, she cut a quick corner and was shocked into jumping back and squealing. Before her a pair of albino peacocks tramped across her path, strutting shamelessly and, as the tip of her shoe had collided with one, it had let out a horrible shriek, unlike any bird she had ever heard at all. It rumpled its feathers and took off. She turned the other way quickly as she could with any dignity just for good measure. Again she came across the imposing and majestic bird with water pouring from its beak. She walked from it for a reason she could not explain.

She had lost herself, not long after, in the maze of paths and patches of flowers growing freely in a serenade of colors. Every so often she spotted, from a comfortable distance, a dash of white feathers here and there. It was pleasant to become thoroughly lost in the hot summer day with the overcast sky looking down upon her. In such unfamiliar and welcoming surroundings of nature it was possible to forget where she really was. She could be in any enchanted garden in the world. In losing herself, she could lose her thoughts and he impending, dreadful future. Taking random lefts and rights she could have been anyone at all. There might not have been a Draco Malfoy. She might have never been engaged. She pretended she was, in fact, on summer vacation and touring some estate gardens, enjoying every minute of the hot dusk she walked and imagining until the paths came to an end, the trees and flowers thinned, and all opened up into the green fields she had spotted out of the Malfoy's tea room windows.

Down the slope she began to trot. The grass was damp and slippery under her shoes and she slid on it now and again. Reaching a single tree, a tall silver birch perched on the edge of a creek, she watched the water flow over the stones like wool through a loom, glistening like a serpent's cool back. It babbled to her incessantly, but she paid it no mind. Instead, she allowed her eyes to transfix themselves on the dancing water, mossy rock, smooth pebbles of the bottom, and the green bank. Staring at it silently and intently she did not notice movement behind her until she could hear breathing nearby. Uneasy from the unknown presence she slowly inclined her head towards where she had noticed the movement and spotted, through its vibrating reflection, a flash of brilliant white and gold.

Feet from her in this green field stood a huge male unicorn, whiter even than the freshest winter snow, colossus and powerful, with a giant pure gold horn protruding from its wide forehead. For a moment, she could not move or breathe as she stared at the animal. Its eyes casted knowingly over the expanse of the grass before them, it dipped its graceful, strong neck into the water, and drank. She was close enough to hear it swallow and it sent chills down her arms in spite even in the summer air.

Giving it a few moments to drink it which it took no note of her, she then made to stand. Immediately its neck snapped up, its ears stood straight and shifted to catch her sound, and its eyes changed. They were an almost milky-blue with big, black pupils. Knowing enough about these animals to be frightened, she waited until her back began to hurt to straighten it. The animal just stared her down in an imperial manner without moving at all. It might have a been another statue if she could not see the slight contract and rise of the chest as it breathed in the same wet air as she did.

Unsteady in its presence, she stood up. It stared at her, remaining still, until, filled with hope or desperation, she moved forward a gentle hand. No response. She extended her fingers gradually as far as they would reach; the animals concentration visually on them all the while. The apparent intelligence in its eyes was remarkable to her. She began sliding her foot ever so slightly toward her front one. The unicorn stared at her feet. She moved her other hand forward, cupped like a peace offering. Waiting for its reaction, she stepped forward. It cared not. She squatted on the ground and played with the grass, hoping to calm it. The unicorn waited and watched, then shifted his head down tentatively for a drink. Staring in the direction behind them, it did not notice Hermione stand. She did not want to disturb it, but she so wanted to touch it. She wanted so badly to know if that delicately silver coat was as soft as it looked.

As she approached it, its wide and wild eyes locked onto hers causing her to freeze in her tracks. Pushing the air forcefully from its nostrils, it pulled itself up on its hind legs and kicked the sky in a show of magnificent force and power, taking Hermione aback. His huge body whipped around, shot her a violently reproaching look, and galloped off across the field, the ground reverberating under his heavy golden hooves, and his mane flying freely in the breeze behind him. It was surreal. For a while she watched him from her position leaning up against the birch tree as he demonstrated his spirit along the contrasting dim and cloudy horizon. Afterwards, wishing she could run as freely as he did, she turned to make her way back towards the gardens.

As the trickling grew louder, she began to collect her bearings and grew surprisingly tired as she walked. She did not at all enjoying being lost, but with every turn she took she felt her senses flip and heard the fountain remain, as always, just off to the side. As frustration mounted, Hermione pulled her wand from her pocket to direct her to the fountain and made her way rather agitatedly to the center of the gardens once more, intent on returning inside soon. As she rounded the final bend, however, her plans quickly changed, as her breath caught in her throat and she flung herself backwards, flattening herself against the hedge. Daring to peek over, if only to confirm that what she had seen was not a figment of her imagination, her heart leapt in her chest as the bear before her sniffed the ground feet away from her.

Why on earth would the Malfoys have a bear? What reason on earth could possible warrant such a measure? Was if a fetish, she wondered, half sick with notion. Looking closely, she saw that it was indeed a European dancing bear, one of the kind kept in poor captive conditions by beggars and gypsies in the streets of Europe trained in a painful manner to 'dance'. Most such bears went blind from malnutrition and mad from the odd and stressful conditions in which they were force to live out their existence. The bear before her was indeed blind. Hermione felt an overwhelming rush of pity. What an atrocity. How cruel. She was crying before she realized it, feeling the bear's torment. She could not imagine how it must feel-or could she?

Did she look so forlorn, so tortured, so out of place? He pawed desperately at the pebbles. Was he hungry? She noticed, not for the first time, her own hunger. Her stomach growled audibly. The bear snorted and huffed, looking with unseeing eyes alertly in her direction. With a sudden jolt of fear Hermione turned back around and took comfort behind the safety of her hedge, closing her eyes and holding her breath as she listened to the rough breathing and smooth shifting of pebbles from behind. After a short while, the noise stopped. Grimacing in insane expectation, she extended her fingers and felt the hedge she was about to peek around. As she did so however, her fingers felt more than a dry prickle. Her fingertips had come in contact with something very soft, cold, and wet. She looked down. The bear was sniffing her hand. With a gasp she jerked her hand away like it had hit her with a stinging hex and turned and ran.

The bear made an odd cry, or surprise or anger and she glanced back at his confused visage as she ran around the garden of blues, purples, brilliant reds, and twilight pinks all color becoming a blur.

Her own hurried steps were the only noises she heard for a while, but then a baying of hounds because audible. It grew. The sound was unnerving and confusing in the warm, shadowed garden. The beasts were on her heals before she knew it. She was catching glimpses of white, rust, and brown ahead and behind. Still she ran, farther than the screaming stitch in her side told her she could and the faster she ran the louder the baying and barks became. All at once, she burst form the garden on the south side, no less than four English Pointers on her heals. She launched herself forward, hoping to get down the slope faster, but collided with something heavy, unexpected, and vaguely familiar.

The figure grabbed her. She could feel and hear the hounds upon her now and a voice yelling. Quite flushed, hair askew as could be, Hermione looked up into the serenely grey eyes of Draco Malfoy and noticed, for the very first time, a speck of blue there.

"Hush, Porthos." He was chiding. "d'Artagnan, be still. Get down boys." The beasts fell quiet.

"Granger," he hissed, or attempted to. "What were you doing provoking my hounds?"

"I was running and they chased me," came her dull and breathless reply.

"Of course they did. Hounds are trained to chase people running on our property. Why were you running?"

"I saw a bear."

"A bear?" she nodded forcefully, willing him to believe her. He gazed at her as if she was mad.

"Are you sure?" he asked, as if inquiring if she were feeling well.

"Absolutely. It-it came up to me and tried to-to eat me or something."

"Eat you?" he demanded.

"Well, it was sniffing me and-"

He responded in a way she had never anticipated. He laughed. Her eyes widened in pure surprise. Judging from his appearance he must have thought something was truly hilarious. He was doubled over, gasping for breath, red faced, watery-eyed, and chortling more deeply than she had ever heard him. She gazed at him as if he were mad. Somehow it did not seem to fit him to be truly amused rather than arrogantly mocking or entertained. It sounded as strange on him as a dress would have looked.

"I swear it was a bear!" she protested indignantly. This only made him laugh harder. He kept going for a good several minutes, making her more agitated by the second.

Slightly recovered, with tears still streaming down his jovial visage, he finally managed: "For God's sake! That was just Jacopo. He's blind and harmless. Running from Jacopo of all things in this garden… The look on your face-I can only imagine!" He clutched his side and dissolved into laughter again.

"I'm sorry to say I didn't find it nearly as amusing," she commented sourly, slightly embarrassed. How was she to know that the bear was harmless? It was a bear, after all! He had turned away and was walking in the opposite direction.

"Where are you going?" He looked at her and considered her a moment. God she hated it when he did that. What was he looking at? What was he thinking? Who did he think he was anyway?

"Come with me. I'll show you something."

She followed him in spite of her better judgment warning her it may be a trap out of pure curiosity. If Draco was going to show off something, it was probably something interesting. They made their way, with the now friendly two pairs of hounds at their feet, far in the opposite direction of the field she had found. They continued until again the garden ended at the edge of a wood of tall, dark trees. Stepping into their shade, she watched Draco enter the stone arch of a very old building. He disappeared into its shadows. She waited for a moment, uneasy again. A dog sniffing her hand with its cold, wet nose and took her by surprise. She patted its head.

Draco's blonde head appeared at the entrance way. "Are you coming, or what?" He asked impatiently as ever.

Hermione gave it considerable thought before stepping forward and answering in a voice that was felt alien to her for reasons she did not know: "Yes. I'm coming."

_**A/N:** What's Draco up to? A bit different, but how did you like it? I know the Casus Malfoy bit was long, but it was super important. Hope it was at least a little interesting. Actually, it took a lot of research (muggle and magical history), as did the next chapter for reasons I cannot yet reveal. If you think that bit was long, then you should read the full version of the chapters on my word program! I re-wrote it like 5 times to condense. This chapter was originally this and the next one, but it was way too long so I cut it in half. Those of you who are hankering for more Hermione/ Draco interaction will enjoy the next chapter: "Facing gods and Demons". I would like to know what you would like the rating on this story to be. **Please **review!_


	11. Not a Fool

**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter and related material is not mine and I lay no claim to it. This story is written for entertainment purposes only. Please don't sue me.

_**A/N: Happy Holidays!**__ Please forgive the delay. For information on it, and information on when to expect more up-dates, check my profile. Hopefully, it will not happen again. Thank you for you past reviews and your patience. I hope you enjoy this new chapter continued directly from the end of the previous one and, as always, reviews are very much appreciated. _

_Also, to those of you who do Fan Art: I would love some pictures of scene__s__ and/or characters from my__ story__ Stolen, but __as I am a horrible artist myself I am making a special request. __If you would be interested in attempti__ng to draw/paint a scene/character from Stolen__, I would, in return, send you a copy of the next new chapter BEFORE IT IS POSTED. Let me know if you are interested!_

**Stolen**

**Chapter 11:** Not a Fool

Throwing caution to the winds, she allowed herself to be lead forth into the dark corners of an abandoned building by Draco Malfoy. Why on earth was she being so reckless? The shadowing edifice was intriguing. It looked ancient, and therefore, full of history, stories, and mystery. Adding to her fascination were the indecipherable writings on its entrance arch. They vaguely reminded her of something from Ancient Ruins. She admitted to being a little curious. What was so wrong with that?

'Curiosity killed the cat, Hermione,' she warned herself, then quickly shook it off. It wasn't as if Malfoy was going to kill her in the garden. She laughed at the thought.

Once inside, it became apparent that the ancient quarters were still used for something, though obviously not for what they once had been. All around her were feathers and droppings, like an owlery, but the beasts that lined the ledges were not owls. Their faces covered in funny, little leather hoods, with wings and skulls astute, they were intimidating. Upon entering, she backed away only to find herself surrounded by the war-like birds in the shadowy confines. All heads pivoted in her direction and she could sense their tension, palpable on the dusty air.

Draco, eying her uneasiness, threw her a superior glance as he tapped one behind its legs. It lifted its feet to step onto his hand. The dogs whimpered at the door, unable to enter.

"Hush boys," Draco commanded.

"What is this place?" she asked.

He raised a single cocky eyebrow. "This was where the Malfoys once lived."

"What? I thought the Malfoys were always rich."

"They were, except when they were in hiding and they had to conceal what they had left of their fortune. It wasn't safe to be wealthy and magical in those days. Muggles lived in their manor house and they lived in here, sleeping on the floor like dogs." He sounded outraged yes, but there was something else there was well, something she had not expected. She heard the hint of sadness in his voice, as if perhaps he felt for someone else's pain.

"You mean muggles use to live in the-" she began, looking behind in the direction of Malfoy Manor.

"Don't be ridiculous," he snapped, not even allowing her to word the notion aloud. "That house was burned, of course. This one is new, and no muggle has ever stepped foot in it."

"What about me?"

"What about you, mudblood?" He asked maliciously. She chose not to respond. He clearly wasn't happy about that point.

Hermione never showed it, but she hated the way that word made her feel. It made her want to wrinkle her nose in disgust and rub her skin clean. It made her feel like a germ, or bit of grime that had stuck stubbornly to something nice and refused to come off. Not in spite of this, but because of it, she tried to look as impassive as she could by starring up into the rafters at the birds as if she was fascinated by them. In actuality, they were making her very nervous.

"These are mine and my father's prize falcons. This one is Hermes." He pointed to a little one nearby. "And this is Ares."

"The messenger god with winged sandals and the god of war."

"Correct, Miss Granger," he teased. She grinned in spite of herself.

He released the bird and it swooped out the open window before it. He grew quiet again, clearly thinking of his ancestors and their tragic, secretive history.

"They were healers and teachers then, you know. They were good people!" He told her fervently, as if defending the name he knew had turned to dust in recent years.

"There were nine of them in this place. Nine. Can you imagine how cramped it must have been? They could rarely leave, only to apparate to work and back. The children, and the older ones, they could not leave at all, not for the two years since the muggles took everything from them. Do you understand?"

She nodded, not sure what else to do.

"No you don't. How could you possibly? But I do." He looked her up and down. She stared back. "When I was nine years old, my father locked me in this place for five days."

"What? That's horrible!"

"I had food and water… and these guys." He gestured to the falcons and moved to the one he called Ares, lifting him up. "My father did this to me when I finished the book just as his father did to him, his heir, as was done to his father by him. He had to, so that I would understand our suffering, but I was safe."

"The book? What book?" she asked, although she expected she already knew.

"The one you can't put your filthy, mudblood hands on. The Personal Tragic History of Casus Malfoy. He was nine at the time you see. He lived in here for two years until they were discovered. Do you know how they found out Casus' father? It was because he was using magical healing to help muggles. He thought it was unfair to see so many dying of things that wizards were so readily cured of. He was trying to help them. At the trial, the foolish muggles said he had made love to a daemon to get his powers. And then they killed them. He was trying to save their LIVES-and they took his for it."

Then he released the second bird. As it met the other along the horizon, it immediately became apparent that these were the birds she had watched out the windows of the Malloy's tea room when she fist arrived. Out there, masters of their domain, they were undeniably graceful. She watched the performance against the now cloudy sky with mesmerized interest, following Draco outside.

"What do you mean by 'They killed _t__hem_'?"

"All of them. The whole family."

Perhaps it was the shock of the statement or the circle of trees spinning around her that her made her feel dizzy; perhaps it was the heavy moisture in the air that made her breath shallow suddenly; perhaps it was because she had just run, or the fact she had not eaten since the other morning; whatever the reason Hermione felt very odd for a moment, and then she felt nothing but the solid, cool earth she landed on. When she awoke, she was laying on a bed of dirt looking up at the dim light filtering through the trees. Something cold touched her face. She opened her eyes, expecting to see a wet cloth, but found instead, the cool, wet nose of a hound. She sat up and shooed them away. Draco was kneeling nearby, looking slightly relieved, but frowning.

"What happened to you?" His tone was almost concerned, almost accusatory.

"I-I think I fainted," she stuttered dumbly, plainly confused and disoriented. "It must be because I haven't eaten since…" she trailed of, having no desire to finish the thought aloud.

"Come here," he commanded. She followed.

'Like the hounds,' she thought resentfully.

On the side of the old shelter, Malfoy reached his hand carefully into the most dark, plush bushes Hermione had ever seen. Her eyes widened in surprise. These plants were not even in the Hogwart's greenhouses, as they were remarkably rare. It struck her as odd that Draco knew this to show them off. He never seemed to show an affinity for herbology, but he was grinning ear to ear, as silly as a child, as he extracted his hand from the plant.

In his hands he held a miraculously purple orb, swollen to its tightest possible shape with juice. He held it up and examined it, licking his lips in anticipation of its sweetness that would soon pervade his mouth. She watched eagerly as it disappeared between his parted lips and studied his expression as he closed his eyes, savoring the delicate flavor. Her mouth watered. Her stomach growled. She was so hungry.

Draco popped his eye open in time to catch her licking her lips. His look was exceptionally smug. He plucked another berry gingerly from the bush and plopped in his mouth greedily, not even pausing to make her envious. He continued to devour luscious berry after berry, staining his mouth with their royal purple juice. Finally, will breaking to hungry, she moved forward and reached into the bush. It sprung to life instantly, thorns clamping down upon her pale, unsuspecting hand like teeth.

"Ow!" she exclaimed, eyes watering. As she tried to jerk away, it ripped her flesh. Draco, reaching over, rolled his eyes and wrapped his handkerchief around her hand. She thanked him and went about cleaning the wound with a simple spell. His hands stopped hers in mid movement.

"Like this," he said as he squeezed her thumb and forefinger together, moving them slowly into the bush and picking a berry from its stem without touching a single blossom. He then directed the hand he held to her mouth which she opened instinctively. She paused.

"It can't be poisoned, can it?" he asked cheekily. He was right though. Falling into temptation, she allowed the berry to be pushed onto her lips and into her mouth. It was soft and cool. As it burst, its juice filled her mouth and its sweet tartness was delicious. She couldn't't resist the faint a moan at the taste. She loved berries.

He was smiling. At her? Yes, he was. How extraordinary. Well, she had just moaned.

Before she could allow herself to grin in return, or scold him for his dirty mind, she was screaming, for behind her, over the trees ruckus barking through which she had heard the shrill, painful yells of an animal being attacked. Worse still, it was not just any animal, but Crookshanks.

"Crookshanks? Oh my God! If those beasts of your kill my cat, Draco, I swear I'll –"

Just like that she was on her feet and racing out of the edge of the wood and into the garden mazes with Draco hot on her trail.

"Crookshanks!"

"Granger, STOP!"

"Crookshanks!"

"Hermione!"

"CROOKSHANKS!"

"Stop running. The dogs, Hermione!" He gasped out, clutching his side.

The screaming of the cat had ceased, but the dogs were still baying and barking. Their direction had changed, however, and just as this occurred to her, she rounded the bend to come face to face with the snarling brood. She screamed and covered her face with her arms.

Skidding to abrupt halt in the sea of tiny stones with a look of morbid disbelief stricken upon his face, Draco watched her body brace for the attack; for there was no command he could issue to stop them now.

Hermione wondered, in the spilt second before the dogs leapt upon her, why wasn't Draco doing anything. He was just standing there. Then of course, why would he?

"Impendimenta!" The dogs stopped in mid air and fell, with a solid thud, to the ground.

She peeked between her fingers, and then slowly let her hands drop. Turned, breathlessly, to Draco she offered a surprised: "Thank you."

He nodded, and then looked uncomfortably around. She was so confused. On one hand, she had been amazed when he did nothing, but even more amazed when he did _that_. Taking a step forward, she made to thank him once more and perhaps question his impulses, but he stopped her in her tracks with his response.

"That's twice I've saved your life now," he put bluntly.

The relief that had, just moments ago, overwhelmed her turned suddenly to an unfamiliar, unpleasant feeling that tied knots in her stomach. What a burden to him she now bore. She could almost feel the weight of it upon her shoulders. Die or become indebted to an enemy; her choices were few and poor in the time of war. Simple though really, he had saved her life again and she was in his debt through that. It was funny how her life had become her burden.

All at once, the sky opened up with a great rumble followed by a heavy roar. The rushing sound grew closer and closer until the water falling from the dark clouds met the earth.

"Crookshanks!" She gasped, regaining her composure. "Crookshanks?" She called for him. For several minutes, until she was soaked through, she searched in vain for the animal in the place the dogs had come from. There were signs of a struggle, but no sign of the cat. He may have gotten away when they became distracted by her.

"I'll send Knobby out for him later, but he's probably run inside from this mess anyway," Draco yelled over the din the storm was making. She nodded reluctantly.

The two of them ran from the gardens and up to the pebble walk way, passing the eagle statue and making their way towards the back door through which she had came earlier. Just as they passed afore mentioned golden statue, above a stark cry broke through the heavy air with a beautiful, and yet terrifying, note. An eagle, nearly identical to the one weld in bronze before them, soared directly above, shadowing them. She froze in the mists of the heavy, cool rain to stare up at it in awe.

"That's Horace. Incredible isn't he? Just like that one." Draco pointed to the statue.

"Yes. What does it mean by that, anyway?"

"What does what mean by what?"

"The Latin bit: Cicatrix Manet, 'the mark remains'."

He looked at her hard for moment, with the air of someone trying to decide ho to express something very grave to someone not entirely able to understand. "It refers to Casus Malfoy and to what happened to him."

"But why Casus Malfoy? Weren't they all killed? What happened to him?"

"Come on already. Come out of the bloody rain." Draco said grabbing her wrist to pull her attention away from the great bird. They ran across the slippery stones and up the steps into the back drawing room where they stopped suddenly, out of breath, and dripped on the fine carpet in breathless silence. Only when she reached to remove her jacket did she realize their hands were intertwined. His large paler one and her bandaged one were pressed together. It felt warm and... He pulled away suddenly and with a great deal more fear in his eyes than disgust. Hermione threw him a puzzled glance and removed her boots, placing them by the fireplace and door.

"Look." Hermione moved to stare out the window at the beautiful gardens covered in droplets falling from the blackened sky. She thought it was lovely, but Draco had fallen silent and was poised at the wall of glass as well, staring unblinkingly. He was mesmerized like a child by Christmas. How odd that, this being his home, he must have stared out this window many times at the rain, but he looked as though he had never been outdoors in his life.

"Yes. It's lovely."

"Shush. No, watch it. Hear it?"

So she did, of course, but not before throwing him a queer look. She watched the tear drops fall and devour each other in puddles, drip gracefully of the statue of Horace and split the water in crowns. She stood, mesmerized as he, as it drummed on the windows and obscured the glistening blossoms and danced on the surfaces of everything outside their walls of safety and civilization. Looking at a captivated Draco and then out the window, Hermione began to see what he was seeing. There was so much she had never noticed- her -the observant one. How painfully ironic that Draco, the unfeeling, shallow one, should point this out to her.

Neither said saying for the longest time. Then Draco moved to sit at a chair from where they watched the entire storm. For about 20 minutes it poured in torrents, roaring viciously and shaking the windows. Its lightening bolts violently and sporadically lit up the sky giving everything a weird, inverted look, then plunging it back into unnatural darkness. After a while, it seemed to grow tired of its fit and it changed to a shower again. With each movement of the storm, like a symphony, Draco's body responded. It was so strange, and yet she had to admit that she enjoyed it immensely. When the storm quieted, they looked at each other or a moment, with the air of two people sharing something very private or sacred, half embarrassed at being too personal.

"Dinner," Jovially announced a suddenly present house elf.

"Dress. Hurry." Draco said, leaping to his feet. "We'll be late and there will be the devil to pay."

Hermione, too rushed to argue, scampered away to her room where she quickly used a spell to dry her hair and put on some dark purple formal robes. Slipping into short, black heals and putting in a beetle clip, she powdered her nose and added a little blush to her already flushed cheeks. That would have to do. There was a knock at her door.

"Granger."

"Coming!"

She raced to the door and rushed into hallway. "Is this alright?"

"It will have to do."

'How pointlessly rude,' she thought.

Soon, they were being seated at the most elegantly laid table Hermione had ever seen. Although the party had been massive, this was stunning in its impeccable and delicate taste. Everything was silver, white, blue dainty, and expensive. She forced her face to remain expressionless with her head held high as she passed an assortment of equally nasty characters by Draco's steady arm. She held it like a lifeline as she passed a particularly dismal mop of black hair.

"Bellatrix."

"Silence," he whispered harshly. Smiling disgustingly sweetly at Hermione, Bellatrix Lestrange indicated the seat next to her. Draco sat on her other side, on the right hand side of his father. On Lucius' left was, of course, Narcissa next to her guests, the family of, and including, Morrissa Gouge. The place next to Bellatrix and her husband was occupied by the only friendly face (which was, in itself, anything but friendly) Severus Snape.

Hermione sat gingerly down, faced politely forward, and kept her mouth clamped painfully shut. As the meal was served, she reached to take a sip of her drink, but stopped in mid air and replaced it, a slight burning rising in her throat. Draco, eying her suspiciously, distracted the guests with a conversation that Severus contributed to. All eyes on the professor, Draco surreptitiously switched his and Hermione's plates and goblets. She threw him a politely puzzled smile which Draco discouraged it with a stern glance.

'How like him to be so deceitful, but how so unlike him to be so, well, clever,' she mused.

"Draco, dear, you haven't touched your food. Is it alright?"

"Oh yes, mother, quite. I was just so distracted by our excellent company."

Hermione blinked to hide her eyes she could not keep from rolling, ducking her head to taste her partially eaten meal. It was indeed, alright.

"Oh, leave him alone Narcisssa, I saw him take a bite not a moment ago." Lucius protested. The conversation, thankfully, ended there.

Hermione strove to remember every detail of what was said, though Snape would no doubt report most of it and it was highly uninteresting, two verbatim reports could not hurt. She would also write of her day and Draco's strange behavior. As soon as she returned, she planned to make her report in her hidden diary, pant some false information and earnest thought for deception sake, hand it to Knobby, and finish reading The Tragic Personal History of Casus Malfoy.

Her determination and plan gave her a feeling of security that allowed her to ignore all the flirty glances that rude Morrissa tossed at Draco while insinuating that she would see him again tomorrow, as well as brush off the crude phrases and nasty choice of words Bellatrix employed to irk her. Indeed, it was surprising how the word 'mudblood' could now roll off back her almost as easily as it rolled off the Malfoy's tongues. When at last dinner was over, Hermione stood quickly, eager to return to her room for several reasons.

On her way back to her room, Draco mentioned something abruptly.

"I am going to Diagon Alley tomorrow to pick up things for school. Stay out of trouble for once. I won't be here to save you." Was that a jibe, or an earnest warning?

"I'm not going with you?"

"No."

"No? Who is? Morrissa?"

'Where did that come from, Hermione?' she asked herself. It must have seemed odd to Draco as well for it stumbled him for a moment.

"You would be well advised to mind your own business, mudblood."

"My business?" She heard the outrage begin to rise in her own voice. "I am your partner!" she whispered angrily.

"Yes, and you would be well-advised, partner, to keep out of things that don't concern you. I tell you what you need to know. Everything I keep from you is to keep you safe. The most danger is found in secrets." With that, he turned to leave.

"What about my things?"

"What things?"

"My things for school. Will you pick them up?"

There was a strange pause again, and then a weak, smug smile with: "I guess so. You'll get your books, Granger."

"What about Crookshanks?"

He wheeled around again, this time with plain fury etched in elegantly in his face.

"What about him? I am not that damn cat's keeper! If you want him, you go look for him or send your own house elf."

"Fine, I will," she replied, smartly.

"I'm not your elf either!" he shouted. "It's bad enough I have to save you every time you turn around and now I have to be your errand boy. 'Get my books for me, Draco,'" he mocked her.

She turned red. "I didn't ask you to be my errand boy! I didn't ask you for anything! Leave me alone then, why don't you? I'll send for my books myself!"

"You do that, Granger and I'll gladly leave you alone. Now, if you starve, it'll be your own stubborn fault!"

"Well, maybe if your house elf wasn't mad as a hatter and tried to kill me I wouldn't be so paranoid! For all I know you told him to do that!"

"Yes! That makes perfect sense. I keep trying to have you killed so that I can save you. Where is the logic in that? You're the one as mad as a hatter!"

"Maybe you are just trying to earn my trust as part of your masterful plan of deceit."

"You ARE paranoid. You really are losing your mind, Granger." He laughed.

"Is it so really hard to believe?"

"That you are losing your mind? Not particularly."

"NO! That's not what I meant!" she actually stamped her foot. He was so infuriating.

"Well, what did you mean then?"

"You're not exactly the most trustworthy person, you know?"

"Well, then that would make you a pretty foolish person, wouldn't it?"

She froze. Her face fell.

"Are you a fool, Granger?"

"No."

_**A/N:**__ I hope you liked it! Please, let me know what you thought of it. I love your reviews! Thanks for reading.__ Keep in mind the Fan Art challenge. _


	12. Sorrow and Loss

**Disclaimer: **I am just a poor student/fan. I own nothing.

**Stolen**

_**A/N:** Happy New Year! As promised here it is: Chapter 12. Warning: disturbing imagery ahead. It's a tad short, but there are some big questions answered! Enjoy and please leave a review!_

**Chapter 12:** Sorrow and Loss

Sitting back and reflecting upon Draco's behavior, Hermione was forced to come to the only conclusion she could, and it could be summed up in a single word: peculiar. That was simply the only word for it. What was he playing at; who was he really; and, most importantly, whose side was he on?

Draco seemed to be, as silly as it sounded, several different people at once. There was the kind, merciful Draco who saved her from death, helped her to eat, and loved to watch thunderstorms. Then, there was the Draco who ridiculed her, who jinxed her, and who hated her for her bloodline alone. But was he deceitful?

On the one hand, if Snape said he was to be trusted, then he must be trusted. What's more, Snape, being a spy, was good eye for honesty, and, having known the Slytherin his entire school career, knew him better than anyone. What's more, Snape was inclined to trust no one. Therefore, if he trusted Lucius Malfoy's son, there must be a reason. Dumbledore was willing to give him a chance, and he was much wiser than her.

So what was behind his suspicious behavior? Why would one moment he call her Hermione and the next mudblood? Why would one moment he seem to share his secrets, and then yell at her for poking about? Why would he make a friendly gesture, and then revert back to his old ways? One moment he was calm and grinning, the next worried or furious. It was, she concluded, simply the most mystifying behavior she had ever witnessed. Having been best friend with Harry for quite a while, that was really saying something.

Frustrated and angry, she threw her diary (containing all of her ranting this evening had conjured) across the room and yelled in a fit of fury. After changing, she quickly picked it up as to not make unnecessary work for Knobby. Calling the house elf, she requested her cat be brought to her.

"You can wait until morning, Knobby. It's late and cold and wet out there."

"Not to worry, Miss. Knobby can do it."

"Thank you so much, Knobby."

Done with the diary notes for the evening and eyelids already heavy, she thought she'd better leave her reading for tomorrow when Draco would be out.

'Would he be with that girl?' she wondered. 'And, more importantly, why did I care? She didn't.' she answered herself. With that, she went to bed.

She awoke the next morning to find herself uncharacteristically hungry. She supposed that the dinner from last night had stretched out her stomach. However, when Knobby popped up with breakfast, she did not think she could stomach it. The sneezing house elf's face fell.

"I made it myself Miss."

"I just-I'm so sorry Knobby."

"It's alright, Miss, but Knobby is not wanting Miss to go hungry. What if Knobby makes Miss some porridge instead."

The house elf sneezed so strongly she knocked herself back wards off the edge of the bed.

"Knobby! Are you alright?"

"Yes, Miss. Knobby is fine." Her head popped back up and shook with sneezes several more times.

"I'll have that porridge now, Knobby, if you still feel like making it," Hermione offered bashfully to cheer the elf up. It worked. She instantly lit up, smiled, and bounded off to make it, babbling happily.

"Yes Miss! And Knobby can add apple and cinnamon and pears and maple and cream and sugar…"

"Knobby did you find Crookshanks?"

The elf stopped bounded and babbling. She turned slowly, ears drooping and replied: "No, Miss, but Knobby will look again this morning. Knobby will find Crook for sure today."

"Thanks Knobby."

"AHH-Cho!"

"Bless you!"

"Why thank you Miss!" the elf joyfully exclaimed.

The porridge came and Knobby swore not a single elf, friendly or not, had touched it. She informed Hermione that she had made it herself, washed all of the dishes, and even brought fresh milk, instead of tea, to drink. Unable to resist its wafting, warm fragrance any longer and very grateful to the eagerly watching elf, Hermione tucked in.

"It's delicious Knobby, thank you."

"Miss is welcome. Knobby is very glad that Miss is liking it."

"Oh yes, very much so. You're quite a skilled cook, you know."

"Thank you Miss!" the elf blushed furiously.

"Tell me something please Knobby."

"Yes Miss?"

"Have you lived here all of your life?"

"No Miss."

"Your family hasn't always been working for the Malfoys then?"

"The Malfoys have 3 families of elves; specialized elves were bought more recently. Knobby is one such elf. We are purchased before our birth and then bound to the purchaser's family to serve them forever, unless freed. Elves are rarely freed."

"Dobby was freed."

"Yes. Harry Potter saved Dobby!" the wide-eyed elf whispered secretively, as if disclosing to Hermione the location of a hidden treasure.

"Yes."

"And Knobby has not seen Dobby since." Without warning, the elf bursts into terribly morose sobs. Hermione felt her own eyes water at the pitiful sounds of the elves distress.

"Shush. No Knobby, don't cry. I-I didn't mean to upset you."

"Upset Knobby? Do not worry Miss; Knobby is just missing her brother."

"Were you two close?"

"All house elves are close. They sleeps together, eats together, works together. We does everything together."

"How wonderful."

The elf hushed and looked up at her in surprise. "Miss really thinks so?"

"Yes. I think it's lovely, Knobby. You know, at school, my friends and I were much the same as you elves."

The elf smiled the biggest grin Hermione had seen upon her and it made Hermione feel much better. It was not the victorious kind of good feeling from her investigative success, or the shallow kind when Draco was nice to her, or even the excitement at seeing Crookshanks, but genuinely good.

"Sometimes Knobby is mad at Dobby for leaving her here. Sometimes she is feeling jealous that Dobby is free. Knobby is very naughty for being that way. She punishes herself a lot. Knobby is a very bad elf."

"No! You are not a bad elf, Knobby! Don't punish yourself for feeling that way. It's only natural to want to be free like your brother and to miss him. Of course you're jealous. I would be."

"Miss would?"

"Yes." The elf gave her a watery smile.

"What is Dobby doing at Hogwarts?" she whispered again.

"He works for A- for Headmistress McGonagall. She is very kind, brave lady, but very strict… and wise as well."

"Miss knows her?"

"Oh yes. I like her very much. Dobby works for her and he takes care of the castle with the hundred other elves."

"Do they get to iron?" the elf gazed up hopefully.

"Iron? I suppose so. They do all the laundry and cooking and cleaning and keep the fires. It's lovely what all they do."

"It sounds wonderful."

"You know Knobby, if you'd like to send a letter to Dobby I could give it to him when I get to school. Would you like that?"

"Yes! Oh yes Miss Knobby would! Miss is too kind, too kind."

"You are welcome Knobby. It's the least I could do for you since you are taking such good care of me."

"Yes, Knobby would love that, but-" her face fell. "Knobby cannot read or write."

"If you tell me what you want to say I'll write it down and read it to Dobby, or, if you like," Hermione tried, and failed, to keep the hint of excitement from her voice. "I could teach you to read."

"Oh no Miss," Knobby shook her head fervently with a dark scowl upon her face. "It is against the law for Knobby be learning that."

"What? It is?" said Hermione, outraged.

"Yes, but that is alright. Knobby will be glad for Miss to give her message away. Do you what Knobby thinks, Miss?"

"What's that?"

"Knobby thinks she will maybe see Dobby again."

"I think you will as well, Knobby." Hermione offered, though doubtful.

"Knobby will go look for Miss's cat now."

"Are you sure you are feeling up to it?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure?"

"Knobby will be alright Miss."

The elf slipped out and Hermione was left feeling terribly alone. For solace she sought what she always had-ah, sweet consistency- books. This forbidden book Draco had spoke of again yesterday, above all, intrigued her. She couldn't keep herself from it. For a moment that fact unnerved her. What danger came from a book?

'What about Riddles diary from second year?' she asked herself. That book's danger left her petrified for weeks. She shivered at the memory and then smiled at the thought of what had followed.

She recalled, wistfully, Harry saying: "We couldn't have done it without you, Hermione."

She hoped that when all of this was over she would hear that again from her friends. But, back to the issue at hand… Caution, once again, lost out to pure, adulterated curiosity.

What on earth had happened to Casus Malfoy? If the family had _all _been killed, then how had the line continued? Why was it for him they mourned if all of them died? The answers were tingling under her fingers, itching to be discovered.

So she, breaking one of her own hard and fast rules, skipped to one of the last chapters and searched for the bit that would answer everything. Eyes scanned hungrily each page until-the Malfoys were torn from their hiding place, the one she had once stood in, but it didn't stop there.

"So they were torn from their quite safety, but, to the great disappointment of the bloodthirsty mob, could not be executed right away. That was their poor fortune.

"First they had to be examined. Stripped naked before a number of investigators and clergy their bodies were searched for signs of daemon bites. They were kept up through the night and watched for suspicious signs, made to walk in circle repeatedly, driving them almost to the point of distraction. Then, witnesses came forward, selling sickening lies of the treacherous activities the family was supposedly guilty of. Strange substances were found in their home, actually magical plants used to heal neighbors who now kept silent, and used as evidence."

"They were bled openly and their blood was examined for signs of daemons and abnormalities. They were separated and interrogated. Interrogated is here used as a euphemism for torture. God alone knows what happened there.

"In the end, one of them admitted to the unheard of atrocities and revealed the hiding place of the family's wands. Six of the family out of eight was sentenced to death for witchcraft. The worst part: they were sentenced not to burning, but to hanging, the most common form of execution for withes in England at the time. Had they been sentenced to burning at the stake, they might have escaped, but, unable to apparate, chill the flames, and without their wands entirely the six were beaten, tortured, and executed. From atop the horse of the constable, Casus and his twin brother Commodus watched their family be killed before a mob. At first, the boys were confused and were reported to have said:

'Look at father being brought before the people. He must be going to make a speech. Look at all the people cheering for father. Look there is mother as well. Hello mother! Are they going to be married upon the platform?'

"When the nooses were placed upon their necks, the children began to cry.

'Why are they tying daddy up? Why are they covering his face? Don't do that Daddy can't see me; he gets worried if he can't see me.'

"As it became apparent what was about to happen the boys went into hysterics. Casus shouted out: 'No! Don't hurt them, please don't hurt them. They haven't done any harm. They haven't done any harm! Father! Give me your wand and I'll free you!'

"Casus Malfoy was executed for sorcery at age nine. His brother was forced to watch as they burned him, with no wand to escape by. By the agonized wails and desperate cries from his twin and only remaining relative, accompanied by the cheers and jeers of a delighted crowd, Commodus swore, even at that young age, to avenge his brother and never to forget what the muggles had done to his young, innocent soul.

"Commodus kept his promise, as does all of the family of Malfoy, it is said. Not long after, the Wizard's International Statue of Secrecy was passed. But still: Cicatrix Manet, the mark remains."

"Oh my God," said Hermione faintly as she stopped reading and put the book down. She was disgusted and in shock. "Cicatrix Manet." It seemed to be all she could manage.

Knobby appeared not half an hour later soaked to the bone with blue tipped fingers and chattering teeth.

"Knobby! Oh you poor thing. You're freezing. You'll be sick soon if you're not careful."

"K—Knobby is sorry Miss, Knobby is not able to find Crookshanks."

"It's alright," Hermione comforted her, ushering her to sit down. She was, however, getting very worried about the missing fuzz ball.

"Please let me make you some tea and warm you up."

"No Miss!" the elf attempted to squeak in polite protest. "Knobby, sit down."

For the next hour or so, Hermione bustled about in a very Mrs. Weasley-ish way, taking care of the sick little elf. Luckily, elves endure much better than wizards and heal even quicker. With proper care, Knobby was ready to go about her chores by tea time. Hermione skeptically let her go back to work.

Hermione, not in the least bit interested in the book for once, headed out to find that blasted cat herself.

"Bloody fur ball anyway…" she mumbled along the garden paths. "Crookshanks! Be a good little kitty and come where Hermione can find you!" she sing-song-ed.

"Did I just bloody refer to myself in third person? Crookshanks! Come on! This is getting very old. Crookshanks! CROOKSHANKS! Where could you be?" she added, her voice thick with worry.

Turning a corner too rapidly, Hermione came face-to-face with that Jacopo the bear. Despite all the claims of blindness and harmlessness she still took a very breath and froze. The bear, making an odd snorting noise, lumbered towards her, either lazily or cautiously, she couldn't tell which. As it got very close to her she couldn't help but take note how much bigger it was than she had originally thought. It sniffed her hand, and then her face! Judging by the size of its jaws, which she now had full view of, should the mood take him, the beast could, in point of fact, quite easily eat her face. She prayed, of course, that it did not while she also gave thanks for her strong bladder.

Upon close inspection, she noticed an array of scars on the bear's nose and snout. Its eyes were the milky blue of a blindness brought about by cataracts or malnutrition, unless she was very much mistaken. He was fat and well groomed, though. There were no fresh marks of an injury. Could it be that the Malfoy's had rescued this bear? Perhaps a young Draco sensed its distress and asked for it, or perhaps he just saw it and asked, like a brat, for a bear as a pet. There was truly no telling. It would be determined by whatever side of Draco was showing at the moment.

She was pulled from her musings by the nudge of a cold nose to the palm of her hand. Could it be thinking _that_? Could she do it? Slowly, she lifted her hand and ran it along the top of its head. The fur was delightfully soft and she could not help the smile that cam across her face. Gryffindor. The bear seemed pleased as well.

"You know, you're not so bad once you get to know you a little bit." Then, as an afterthought, she added: "Hagrid would love you." That was about all she could handle of that. She moved on in her search.

After another half hour of searching she came across the edge of the woods and, eventually, the shelter. She stopped and could not drag her eyes away from it. She pictured the family being torn from their home. Did they go quietly with dignity, or plead and cry for their children and try to escape? Was it night or day when they were discovered? Was it cloudy, or was the sun burning hot overhead?

She pictured the eight of them out in the shade of the trees, trembling, stricken with fear. She trembled herself in the dim light of the evening. She decided she had better get out of the cooler night air and into the house before it got much darker. There was no telling what may happen in the dark corners of the garden at night. On her way in she was startled by a pair of albino peacocks she nearly tripped over, as well as the sudden silhouette of the eagle Horace against the sky.

Perplexed and windblown she trudged up the stairs, but stopped on the first landing as she heard from below voices in the dinning room. That meant she had missed dinner. That also meant Draco was back, and so were her school things. She rushed to her room.

Once through her already open doorway, a happy sight met her from the corner of her staying room. There they were, sitting politely upon her desk: all of her school books neatly packaged. She ripped away the paper like it was Christmas morning. The texts smiled invitingly up at her and she grinned back. She couldn't help herself; she would begin charms tonight. There was a meek dinner alongside them, no doubt courtesy of her friend Knobby. She made room for the small meal along with her charms book on the desktop and put the other books away, the smell of the soup making her stomach rumble eagerly.

Something, however, caused her to stop. Her drawer where she kept the secret diary was open. She reached in to grab it and withdrew her hand with a jolt of shock. Something cold had touched her. No, perhaps it was something wet. Placing her hand under the light of the oil lamp, she expected to see ink, but instead the substance that covered her hands had a far fouler stench and, while similar in consistency, was red rather than black. She grabbed the bloody, misshapen diary in horror and pulled it from its hiding place. It dripped blood on the fine carpet at her feet and rolled down her arms and between fingers. She threw it, disgusted, to the floor where it flipped open to a page somewhere in the middle where a foreign object was holding it open.

Said strange object was about the size of a large walnut and seemed to be the source of the blood now seeping out of the pages onto the floor in a wicked little puddle. In unrealized horror, she crept forward to examine the object so odd and hauntingly familiar at the same time.

She screamed, then broke into hysterical sobs, befitting to a person on the closed ward of St. Mungo's rather than the calm, reserved Hermione Granger. She then turned and was sick on the floor.

As she fell to her knees and wept, clinging to her hair like a mad woman, several people burst into the room, none of them friendly by the sound of it. Lucuis Malfoy immediately demanded to be told what was going on there. His outraged was answered not by Hermione, but by Malfoy's sister-in-law. Bellatrix clapped her hands and laughed with glee, pointing merrily at the soiled spot of floor behind Hermione back.

"What is it?" he asked, as he stared unknowingly in disgust at the severed paw of Hermione's cat, Crookshanks.

_**A/N:** Before you kill me over Crookshanks, I should like to remind you that I believe you were warned this story was dark. I mean, come on, the title of the chapter was "Sorrow and Loss". I love the cat too, and no I do not support the slaughtering of innocent house pets, however, for the purposes of this story this had to happen. Bellatrix Lestrange was in the same house as Hermione and her cat. What could I do there? Please don't quit reading now, or you'll miss Hermione's and Draco's reactions and a special guest appearance. What do see happening next? Also, regarding the execution scene, a lot of research went into that and the dramatic account itself was taken from a true story. That being said, please review! There has been a decline recently and I do need more feedback. The more reviews, the sooner the up-date. Thanks for reading!_


	13. The Revealing

_**A/N:**__ Thank y__ou so much for the reviews! Th__e__y were the most I've __had so far for a single chapter and that was, of course, very exciting. The feedback was spectacular. Also, __to __the __many new readers: we__lcome! Please, keep the __reviews__ coming and I'll be able to keep the up-dates coming regularly__ as well.__ Warning: violent imagery ahead.__ I hope you enjoy thi__s new chapter and all its surprises…_

**Chapter 13:** The Revealing

The sound of that maniacal cackle was too much for Hermione to bear obediently. How dare that woman hurt her dear pet? He was just a harmless cat, after all. He had certainly never done any harm. It was sickening, this woman's enjoyment of other's pain. What was she expected to do now? Keep order?

No! She could not stand for it! She refused! Who did they think she was anyway, some push over, some pathetic sap? Well they were sadly mistaken about little Miss Hermione Granger, and they were about to find out exactly how wrong they were. She would show that nasty Bellatrix Lestrange, if it was the last thing she ever did!

In a single, fluid and swift movement, she grabbed her wand, rose, and pivoted towards her target: the murdering madwoman Bellatirx Lestrange. Hermione's expression was devoid of all the emotions that the group she now faced would expect to see. There was no hint of fear they may have hoped to find, or the sudden and passionate rage they were so used to witnessing upon the faces of those who stood up to them, nor even the similarly common sorrow that could have driven her to this mad act. All of this was gone, and in its place was a single devouring emotion that unnerved the group standing in her doorway. It was hate, pure and untainted, that dried her face and steadied her hands and breathing. Aware of its power, the mood changed suddenly and drastically as the summer weather outside the manors doors.

Bellatrix stopped laughing. Lucius actually stepped back. Draco's eyes widened in shock and fear. Their reaction only fueled Hermione's hatred, and she felt her power swell and course, like heat through her body. She felt it rise in her chest. It was stronger than her anger and her indignation and even her grief. It was overwhelming, and yet not fulfilling at all. Even as it took her, she longed for it all the more. It was as seductive as Snape had warned.

Bella resumed her cruel taunting once more. "Are you going you to hurt me? Hmm? Are you going to kill me, mudblood?" she spat the last word with vehemence and dissolved to her disgusting fits of laughter again. Still, anger did not obscure Hermione's mind. Her sheer hate kept it clear, and stilled her hand, as she waited for something that her mind told her she would recognize when the time came.

Draco stepped forward, but her gaze did not waver.

"Hermione!" How dare you face one of my family with your wand? Put it away." His angry voice rolled over her; she barely heard him. "Hermione! Are you listening to me? Put it away!"

She did not move a muscle. Instead, her body stood erect and poised as she remained silent. Sensing her determination, Bellatrix too drew her wand and stepped forward. There was no moment of doubt or realization for Hermione then. There was no steadying breath to be drawn. She felt no need for it. The time had come, and, surprisingly, she was ready.

"Well let's have it then, filthy mudblood. We can spill your blood and let it mix with that of you stinking feline friend. Would you like that? Do want to be with your precious kitty-cat?" Bella raised her wand harshly.

Lucius Malfoy interceded. He began slowly: "Now, there is no need to get bloody, my dear Bellatrix. The stupid child did not mean anything by it. In fact, she's going to put it away now, aren't you Granger?"

The man reached forward cautiously to take his sister-in-law's arm and lead her away from any confrontation. The expression he held was not unlike that of someone carefully balancing something upon their head. It was as if he was grasping at an invisible leash holding back this monster, and she was all but snarling at the end of it.

"Aren't you?" Lucius demanded in his most dangerous, softest voice. When Hermione gave no indication or response, he snapped to his son disdainfully: "Control her."

"Hermione," the younger Mr. Malfoy began. However, in his attempt to sound warning, she thought he almost seemed to be secretly pleading with her to step back in line where he could handle her. He was not going to have his way this time. Then, his voice crept to a depth she had not yet heard it reach, and he clearly commanded her: "Put it away."

Still, she did not move. She had lost the element of surprise, the hope of catching her prey off guard. She was trapped in a stalemate, tension so thick it was palpable on the air. It seemed to be rising and swelling towards an inevitable peak, giving everyone present the feeling one might have watching an inevitable train wreck. But something steadied her. Some unseen force told her to stand her ground, to wait a little longer. Now that she was here, the point of no return with a drawn wand upon her enemy, what else could she do?

"How pathetic Draco! You can't even keep your mudblood in line." That was it. It was what Hermione had been waiting for; for in her anger at her nephew, Bellatrix had turned her head a fraction of an inch for only a second, but it was enough.

"Expeliarmus!" Hermione shouted.

Bellatrix's shocked face snapped back to look at Hermione in crazed outrage. Then, several people shouted at almost the exact same instant.

"You…!" Bellatrix exclaimed.

"Sectumsempra!" Hermione threw the second curse in quick succession of the first. She had no idea where that spell came from. It had sprung to her mind and just continued out her wand tip.

"Expeliarmus!"

It was within that instant that the scene abruptly changed. Draco had her wand in his hand. She and Bellatrix faced each other weaponless and staring loathing into one another's eyes. Malfoy senior was quickly becoming angry at the uproar in his house.

Bellatrix's eyes grew suddenly wide and, in madden fury at her wand being taken, she lunged at Hermione, taking her by the roots of her hair and yanking them painfully back, exposing her face and neck disconcertingly. Then, before Hermione could react, Bella was slapping her across the face with such fervor that it was merely seconds before she could taste the blood pouring from her lips. Taking matters quickly into her own hands, however, she groped for one of her school books from the table behind her, and grabbing it slammed it as hard as she could upon Bellatrix's head several times also in quick succession, hoping desperately it would get her off of her. In actuality, it had the opposite effect. It enraged the beast of a woman, and she screeched like a banshee, making Hermione want to cover her ears.

Though the masses of hair whipping her in the face, along with the other noises assaulting her ears, it was hard to discern what was going on in the room around them. She wondered why no one had stopped what was happening. Thinking she was left again to her own devices and forced to conclude that no one would be coming to her aide, she took control yet again. By placing her feet on Bella's chest she was able to push her off, but it only lasted a second. Immediately, Bella reciprocated. Launching herself fully on top of the girl, she too scrambled for something to attack Hermione with, but she was thrown off when Hermione's head collided with a painful smack with her own face.

Now unable to see clearly, Bella wrapped her skinny, cruel fingers around Hermione's throat forcefully causing a swell of panic to rise into Hermione's chest and her adrenaline to go into overdrive. Her attempts to escape from the surprisingly strong hands constricting her air way were utterly fruitless. The pressure was tremendously painful, and she could feel her lungs begging for air. So she did the only pathetic thing she could think to do: she began slapping Bella and then pinching and then scratching. It was shallow at first, and then harder and more desperately until she feel the skin peeling away and getting stuck under her nails and then the warm wet spots on soft flesh that meant her enemy was bleeding. At first, the woman had laughed at her sad method of defense, but soon her discomfort, and further anger, was apparent.

The screaming daemon did not release her. Seeing spots in the corners of her eyes and clouds of darkness closing in, Hermione too latched on to her opponent's throat, trying her best to squeeze the life out of her. Though she saw it as a useless last resort, as a result Bella began to lose her grip in the struggle to free herself. Hermione took advantage of this and kicked her off once more. Having had more than enough, she tried to crawl urgently away from Bella in order to allow someone to intervene and bring the violence to and end, but Bella had other ideas. She scampered after her and sat upon Hermione, rendering her unable to move for the few short movements it took for her hand to find something in the desk above with which to strike her.

Before the edge of the object could collide with Hermione's skull, a hand stopped it. Most surprisingly, it was not Draco's hand, but his father's. What could have moved Lucius to intervene on her behalf? Was it that he was simply perhaps bored with the spectacle? The look upon his face testified heavily that that was not the case. He looked positively livid and it was quite possibly even more frightening or intimidating, than his insane sister-in-law's crazed violence had been. His anger was reserved, solid, and quite, but somehow more dangerous. What had angered him so?

And then, in a flash of a moment, she understood and literary recoiled in horror. The object Bella had produced from Hermione's desk she had meant to strike her with was no poised in the air above her head. She could not believe her misfortune: it was the book of Casus Malfoy, the book her mudblood hands were forbidden to touch.

The room was filled with a heavier tension than before, and its weight made the gravity of the situation begin to sink into Hermione like ink into paper as her realization, likewise, showed all over her face. For the first time since she arrived, she knew what it felt like to fear for her life, and not in the way one might in the moments before a car accident or while parachuting from a plane. Malfoy hated her, and she had done something that was, to him, unspeakable. She had committed and unforgivable sin, and, what's more, she had been caught. The rules of the game were erased and all became clear. She was sitting at the feet on an enraged Lucius Malfoy's mercy. She literally waited, like a hangman, for her fate to be announced all dread pulsing through her, each loud beat of her heart counting down.

Instead, Lucius turned suddenly to his son.

"Draco!" he barked. "Did you give this to her?"

"What?" Draco looked truly puzzled, and frightened, himself. The sharp sound of a solid hand impacting unsuspecting flesh stung the air. Draco's head was snapped to the side and his blond hair flung out of place, into his face.

"Answer me! Did you give this to her?"

"No father!" He protested. Regardless, another angry slap stung his face and Hermione's burned as well. The sound was sickening. Could she do anything to stop it she may have, but it would only worsen the situation for the both of them, so she remained trapped in the excruciating, anticipation filled, quiet that pervaded the room.

"Did you have any knowledge that she had taken it?"

"No father!" Lucius struck his son harder across the face and the sound rang through the heavy again. Hermione's heart flipped, as did, it appeared, Narcissa's.

"Tell me the truth." He whispered softly, in his most dangerous, forced voice.

"I swear it." He said honestly.

Narcissa looked visible relieved.

"So she stole it from me then?" he said matter-of-factly, and turned to look at Hermione, now laying crumpled on the floor next to Bellatrix who looked to be feeling, rather than amusement, true anticipation. It unnerved Hermione even more then her maniacal laughter. She felt herself grow cold and seem to shrink. Instantly very aware of her haphazard and bloodied appearance, she shifted under his glare.

"SHE STOLE IT FROM ME!" he roared. He tucked the book away, and turned abruptly after throwing a final look of disgust at Hermione that swept through her, chilled her to the bone, and left her feeling very small and dirty, like a house elf.

Without any need for instruction, all of them followed Lucius's movement from the room. Bellatrix looked slightly disappointed that Lucius had not seen fit to kill Hermione right then and there. Hermione, on the other hand, could now dare to breathe the slightest sigh of relief. Her heart was still speeding painfully ahead of her mind. How had everything gone so badly so quickly? At least some danger had passed by her. However, once at the door, Lucius turned to Draco once more.

"Deal with her." His simple command was a dreadfully cold one and the plain tone of his voice as he said such a thing sent chills down her spine, though surely Draco would not harm her, or so she thought. Her mind began to doubt that assumption the moment they made eye contact. The shock and appall now evident on his face suggested that perhaps he would not have a choice, and somewhat implied that he was less than devastated about it. She shuddered.

"D-Draco. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to get you in trouble. When I found the book I didn't know what it was."

"Shut up! How did you manage to muck things up so badly?" His mind seemed to be racing, his face paler than usual though stinging red on his cheek. His hands unsure of themselves, he seemed nervous and highly agitated.

"See what I have to do now?" he snapped, and then pleaded for understanding. "You made me do it, you see? You made me do it." She shook her head slowly in morbid puzzlement, as she watched his discomfort grow into firm resolve.

"Draco?" she questioned. Not seeming to hear her he took s step forward. She took a step back.

"Draco?" She willed her voice to hold strong. Again he did not answer.

"What are you-" His reply was his raised wand. "Draco, lets talk about this. If the order finds out that you harmed me in anyway."

"If I don't, he'll kill you."

"Let's talk about this."

"Go ahead." He paused.

"Well," she began, trying to remain the calm and logical one. "He can't actually kill me. He knows that. He wouldn't dare."

"In this case I think he'd be willing to make an exception to his rule of being inconspicuous."

"B-But how on earth could he get away with it? Make it look like an accident and it would still be obvious." She backed up further.

"Not if they make it look like a suicide. A despaired girl of promise forced into a marriage where the family didn't approve of her. And you can imagine, once they find the suicide note, well…" he trailed off, sounding as arrogant as his father.

She looked around as if for an answer. "Maybe I can just do a spell to make myself look injured and act upset when I go back downstairs, or you can lock me up for a while."

"There's only one problem with your clever plan. He's listening. You've got to scream." And then she felt her whole lower arm begin to sting terribly. He had hit her with a hex and she yelped in a mixture of pain and surprise. As the hex wore off, she made to grab her wand only to find herself still defenseless.

Another spell hit her hard in the face like a brick, causing her nose to bleed. Again she yelped and tried to stop the bleeding, ducking behind the bed in the process. It was clear that he was angry about the diary himself, she had expected that. What she hadn't expected was for him to so enjoy his revenge against her. Perhaps it was the humiliation he had endured from his father's abuse that had so strongly rekindled his hate for her, or maybe it was in his blood to find this sort of thing amusing when someone had crossed him. She was just a mudblood after all.

She hid, curled up behind her bed and panted waiting for something to happen as time drug by. She hoped to hear the door shut, but no such luck. When at last she could wait no longer, she peaked over the bed only to hear him clear his throat next to her at the end of the bed. She jumped and made to slide under the bed.

He went to his knees with a quick thump.

"Stop playing games Hermione. Don't make this harder than it has to be."

His smooth hair was falling in his eyes, and then she saw them. They weren't burning. They were just dark, very dark. She laid on her back, her face still bleeding slightly, marks around her neck, and a bruised lump on her forehead. She met her gaze and stopped a moment. She held it and he became stuck in a trance. His eyes pierced hers, she defied him. They held a mutual fascination and confusion and dislike that stilled the moment. Despite everything, she felt and saw no hate between them, but nothing more either. They were only connected. In their lives, as in that moment, their current situation was all they shared. Both of them were growing very tired.

"Just scream, Hermione."

"What?"

"Sectumsempra."

Her arm was torn; the skin opened. In spite of all her trying, she screamed. The blood poured down her arm in greater amount than she had ever seen it. The sight alone unnerved her, but the pain as well was extreme. She tried to wrap her sleeve around it, glancing up nervously anticipating more hexes to hit her, like a struck dog.

He looked surprised at the blood as well and made uncomfortable by her apparent distress, not unlike the way he might be made uncomfortable had he walked in on someone grieving in private. He watched in awe for an instant at his deed before his brow creased with slight concern; the amount of blood pouring quickly from her could be problematic. Sliding under the bed to her, wand pointed down, he took hold of her mangled arm and repaired it. In disbelief she looked up at him. They had never been so close as they were now, on their backs beneath the bed. Before she could express her gratitude however, he changed, pulling her by the healed arm angrily out from under the bed.

Exhausted and bewildered past the point of courage or reason she did not rise to her feet.

"Come on get up." It was only half heartedly that he demanded it of her, but when she, too light headed to move suddenly, did not, he grew agitated once more.

"Get up!" he shouted, puling he up by the arm and pushed away from him and slipped behind a table. It did no good. He looked away as he sent the spell that knocked her off her feet and sent her across the room. Confusion and pain overwhelmed her as she was pushed roughly against to bookshelf which poked her in the back. After few minutes of great discomfort and terror, she let out a moan she could not hold in as she was dropped onto the floor with a resounding thump.

At last he threw a loud but short lived, "Crucio!" It was like nothing she had experienced before. It was excruciating, and left her yelling so loudly it echoed in her ears even after the pain had stopped coursing through her body. She shook as she picked herself up and tried to steady herself. Whatever had just happened between them this was certain: it was the oddest, most painful experience of her life and it was over. She would leave in the past for now.

"Why couldn't I have just faked that as well?" She asked breathlessly.

Draco was taken off guard by her question.

"You could have just said: 'Scream your head of like I'm hurting you.' You didn't have to-"

"He would have known the difference." Draco put his wand away. "He knows what people sound like in pain. Besides, you did deface the book of my ancestors." His look was resentful, but it faded away somewhat as he asked: "Are you okay?"

"As well as can be expected, I suppose." She said gloomily.

"Very well. When you come downstairs, don't forget to limp."

"I won't."

"On second thought, you're right. It's best all around if you stay in here for a few days. Knobby will care for you."

"Alright." She agreed, eager or him to leave her be. As he turned to go, however, he hesitated.

"You should consider yourself lucky that I was so kind to you and that the ministry seems fit to protect you at the moment. You may be breathing heavily now, but if father had had you alone, you would not be breathing now at all. Breaths are precious things."

"Well I suppose I should thank you, then." She did not say it particularly enthusiastically, but sincerely none the less. She had felt how close she came to dying that day. Breaths were precious things… Her ears were ringing. His eye brows still shot upwards in surprise. He opened his mouth to say something, but looked dumbstruck. Then, his face fell and his brow furrowed as he looked at something behind her.

"What-is-that?"

Hermione's head whipped around and was beyond disturbed to see what was facing the two of them. She thought perhaps it was a trick of the light. She hoped it was a hallucination. She prayed it was a trick.

But the figures moved forward and a gasp filled her lungs as she realized it was no such thing. In the corner of the room, moving cautiously forward behind the equally bashful Knobby, were her friends Harry and Ron. Despite her fear, her outrage, shame and anger she ran to them and enveloped them in her arms. Her face buried in their shoulders, she could not manage more than their names and some incoherent squealing. Draco looked on, disturbed and worried.

"How did you-?"

"Hermione what happened?" Ron interrupted, clearly concerned.

"Are you alright?" Harry asked, cupping her bruised face gently in his hands.

"What did that slimy git do to you?" Ron demanded angrily.

"This? Oh, this is a disguise for Lucius."

"Lucius?"

"Yes."

"So Draco didn't actually hurt you?" Harry questioned suspiciously.

"Of course not." She laughed nervously. The lie seemed to satiate them for the time being.

"Hermione you look bloody awful." Ron offered lightly.

"Thanks Ronald, how very kind of you." He quipped sarcastically.

"Sorry to interrupt this pleasant little reunion," said Draco, though he sounded anything but sorry. "But if my father finds out you're here you are dead."

This made Hermione start and she turned to them with a scowl. "What on earth are you t doing here! Draco is right, Ron. You'll be killed if you're discovered. Or worse." She said, looking directly at Harry.

"We had to come see if you were alright! After what happened at the Order meeting-"

"What happened?"

"The diary! We opened it to read your report and blood was everywhere. The Order went into frenzy. Lupin grabbed and me and Harry from jumping in the fire right then and there, but we just went upstairs to do it."

"That's completely ridiculous. How could be so foolhardy?"

Harry answered her while Ron looked at his shoes in proper shame. "You know us, Hermione. We didn't really think about it. We were distraught, weren't we?"

"What was all that about? The blood, I mean?" Ron asked.

She wasn't able to reply and, instead, turned to look at the floor where the said bloody diary lay. The paw had vanished, but the puddle remained.

"Crookshanks-" she began, but trailed off in tears.

"Crookshanks?"

"I couldn't find him the other day after the dogs chased him. Bellatrix must have attacked him and she put his- his paw in my…"

"That evil bitch!" Ron exclaimed and glanced at Draco expecting some contradiction or apology, but he offered none.

"Then, she attacked my aunt." The young Malfoy contributed.

"You did?" Ron asked her, taken aback.

"Sort of."

"Brilliant!" the boys exclaimed. She almost smiled, before remembering why she had done it.

"But Hermione, Crookshanks is fine." Harry comforted her.

"What on earth do you mean?"

From behind, with a smile that said he was clearly pleased with himself, Ron produced the furry little beast, whom was perfectly fine save a little mud and one missing paw. At this, Hermione's eyes spilled over with tears, but this time she was smiling.

"CROOKSHANKS!"

"Keep it down! And would you get them out of here?" Draco whispered in an urgent, highly irritated tone.

"Of course, he's right. You have to leave." She said, nuzzling the ball of fluff lovingly and caressing his fury amputated paw. Poor thing. "How did you get here anyway?"

"The Floo network. Luckily, we ran into Knobby when we got here."

"Thanks Knobby!" Hermione said gratefully, making a mental note to repay the house elf no matter how much she objected to it. Greatly recovered from part of her traumatic day by their presence and the reappearance of her cat, she managed to scold the boys on their way to the fireplace.

"You two idiots! What did we say a thousand times? 'Don't do anything drastic!'"

"What? You call this drastic?" Ron joked.

"Yes! I do!" she laughed, half- exasperated with the pair.

Draco raced off, growling impatiently: "I'll make a distraction."

"Thanks!" she called over her shoulder.

"It is great to see you, Hermione!" Harry said before going.

"Oh you too!" she said, hugging both of them hard before shoving them into the fire, her eyes swimming once more. "Harry!" she shouted into the hearth at the last minute. "Take Crookshanks!" He caught the cat with confusion covering his features. Although it hurt to leave him, Hermione felt she had to keep him safe, and that was the only way she could do it.

She waved into the fireplace as her friends and cat disappeared into the green flames, and then, breathing an exhausted sigh, turned her sore and weary body to look longingly at the bed.

_**A/N:**__ See? N__o cliff-hanger this time.__At last, __Harry and Ron make their long anticipated appearance. __Crookshanks is not dead__ I never said he was dead, just that his paw was there. Hint: don't assume anything with this story; I've put in a lot like that.__ I know the bit with Draco may not be what you__ were expecting__, but I promise__ that__ all will be explained.__Were you expecting Hermione to get caught? __Pleas__e let me know what you thought and any questions you may have. As always, thanks for reading!_


	14. Whispers Begin

**Disclaimer:** Not mine. Please don't sue.

_**Important A/N:** Thus begins part two of my story. As I'm not sure how I'm going to divide the end, there will be either 4 or 5 parts in all. The change in parts indicates a movement in plot, time, and place. I use this separation partially to eliminate filler chapters I once had but I no longer see as necessary. Part one was: Hermione's Trap. Part two will be: Hogwarts. In other words, time has passed since the last chapter and some things have taken place you will learn about later if they are important. Also, I am at a crossroads with my rating. To all readers: please leave your vote in a review for how 'mature' you would like to read. Thank you again and I hope you enjoy!_

**Stolen**

**_Part II_**

**Chapter 14:** Whispers Begin

Hermione approached platform nine and three quarters, for the first time, without her family. Mentally, she dared her eyes to water. She would have none of it. She was side by side with Draco as he said goodbye to his doting mother and his insufferable father. To Hermione, they said nothing.

As the typical conversation between her fiancée and his parents unfolded, Hermione's burning eyes searched the platform for signs of her friends. She found none. Harry and Ron would be late as usual, and Harry would have his security detail. She doubted she would get even the faintest glimpse of them, but her hope was to spot them for just a moment to lend her some cheer. She wished she could speak with them before they arrived at school, but she knew that to be an impossibility.

Draco turned and addressed her as a short balding man took their bags, "Hermione come." A command like one to a dog, but she obeyed it. She had to bite her tongue and control her leaping stomach, but she obeyed it. She had to disguise the gag in her throat her pride made as she swallowed it, but she obeyed it. She had to close her eyes briefly to keep from throwing him a heated and hateful glance, but, nonetheless, she obeyed it. But, she wondered how long it would be before she lacked the strength or self control to obey such a command? She wondered how long it would be before she killed Draco Malfoy.

'No Hermione.' She mentally shouted, shaking her head. 'You aren't going to kill anybody!' she reminded herself yet again.

She was not sure when the thought had first entered her head, or why it had chosen that moment to slip in, but it had snuck into her mind like thief in the night. At first, it had been a whisper she could not discern and she would wrinkle her brow at such moments, wondering what that noise had been. Then, the idea would leap into her dreams terrifying her at first, but the angrier she got with Draco, the more her subconscious lured out such images again until it became almost a routine. Every night she would begin with a nightmare, and then she would dream her captors' death and her freedom, and then wake every morning to find herself a prisoner still. Now, if she had not reached her freedom in the dream before she awoke, her mood was sour for the day and she looked forward only to going to sleep again.

She saw no need to write this in the diary. After all, her private dreams were hardly anything of substance to be related in a report. Instead, she babbled on mindlessly about how excited she was to return to school. That worked to please both readers, and often, as they read it, she imagined their reaction and smiled to herself with her secret. They were only dreams after all. She could hardly be expected to control her dreams.

The dreams still visited her occasionally, but now the whisper was audible and followed her always, reminding her over and over again whenever something happened to tempt her. Now, she wrapped a hand tight around the wand in her pocket and rubbed her fingers up and down it longingly. For school, she had gotten her wand back from Draco, because she needed it. Without it she had felt weak, cold, and incomplete. At last she was whole once more, her full power restored, bubbling under her surface like a tea pot ready to boil over. She held it in, reviling the feeling of it within her.

It was true; she was excited to return to school where she could go to class and excel again. She had certainly prepared enough. She had read every book twice and all those in her room's library that related to the material to boot. Now she would be able to practice the spells. She would blow them away this year, she was sure of it. There would be not limits on them as seventh years. The castle would be her freedom, even if she had to roam it in her mask.

The farce of her engagement to Draco was exhausting and there was no telling what surprises it would have up its sleeve for her this year. She knew she would have to wear the ring he had given her which was plain, but pretty enough and of great antiquity. She would have to choose not to associate with her friends, but, she supposed, she could use that time to delve more intensely into her studies. It would be different, yes, but it would still be school. At least she had that. She would be sleeping in Gryffindor tower instead of her room at Malfoy Manor. Then, she could at least be near her friends, even if she couldn't speak with them. Speaking with them, even in secret, would put them, and her, at too great of a risk. She prayed they would understand what she could not tell them and slipped her concerns into her diary.

There would be no talks with Hagrid and no journeys into the forest for the three of them this year. No trips to Hogsmeade or roaming the castle in the dead of night together this time around. She would not be there to save their grades. She would not be there to help organize the D.A. or to feed them information that they may need. This year, she could only be their friend at a distance.

Faces she passed on the train pulled her out of her thoughts. It was them, Harry and Ron, looking at her as if she were a very odd looking, out-of-place puppy, as she walked by hand in hand with Draco staring blankly ahead, ring on her finger, without a word of glance. They stood frozen still, eyes locked on her, until Draco pulled her into a compartment. Once inside, he slung himself across one of the seats, stretching out to take up the whole thing.

"Are you wearing your ring?" he asked her.

"Yes." She fingered the red gold band he had given her. It was simple and lovely. It felt cold on her finger.

"Keep it on." She nodded and looked out the window. Most of the journey she stared out that window at the same scenery she had passed the last six years, and was startled to see how unchanged the trees were, that the waters flowed in the same direction, and the same mountains remained intact. How could so much in her world have changed while the view out her window remained the same? Surely the mountains should have crumbled by now, waters change their course, and trees been dislodged from their homes. Surely with the outside the same as it had ever been then Harry and Ron must be sitting by her, not in a separate compartment. Surely it was Ron's snores that she heard rather than Malfoy's. Every time she checked the reflection in the glass, Draco still hovered behind her, looking bored if awake at all.

When they arrived at the castle, it was couples that climbed into carriages rather than groups of friends. She and Draco got one of the first. The tops were pulled because of the rain and they drew back curtains for privacy. No one joined them. She smiled. Soon, she would be rid of him, for the evening at least.

The halls of Hogwarts were the same as ever, familiar and solid and comforting. She lazily ran her hand along the rough stone of the banister of the entrance hall stairs, trying to hide her swelling excitement as she came closer and closer to parting with Draco.

The great oak door opened to a room unlike the one she had entered in the past. The changes that had occurred since the war began, however hidden by the timeless exterior of the castle, were all too obvious in the familiar great hall.

The four tables still remained, but all evidence of their former houses was gone. They were directed instead to a table for couples. The rest were seated at either the table for those in waiting, or divided into pure-bloods and muggle-borns. How did the ministry, or Voldermort, ever gain so much power in Hogwarts? The answer soon became clear. She had missed so much.

Headmistress McGonagall had been replaced by Snape. Though Snape was on their side, he also continued to stay, it seemed, in the Dark Lord's graces. How would this transform her beautiful Hogwarts? And how long would it be before it was completely taken over? Slowly, in utter disbelief, she followed Draco's lead to the table on the opposite side of the great hall as her friends. This wasn't right.

There was no speech of welcome; a lengthy list of rules was read in is place by Snape. There was no sorting, nor a song. Children were divided into muggle borns and magical. The sight of it made Hermione sick and she did not feel like eating. In silence the two swallowed down several bites. At another table, Harry, Ron, Ginny and Neville craned their necks to see her, but she was forced to pay them no mind. Draco watched her carefully, waiting for her to slip up. She caught him looking and, annoyed, sent him a sweet smile to get her message across. He dropped his eyes, glowering.

At their own table, they struggled to blend in with the happy couples. Some among them were truly sickening, holding hands, pressing up against each other, sharing food, smiling like morons. Others looked as miserable as she felt. From her seat across the table and several down, Hermione noted her favorite Slytherin, Pansy Parkinson. Her eyes were red and puffy, downcast. They watered. She looked longingly at Draco; Hermione glanced aside, feeling suddenly out of place. Pansy too turned away embarrassedly, displaying the other side of her face, which was badly bruised. A pang in her gut like a bucket of cold water dousing her insides hit her. She actually felt sorry for her rival.

Draco paid no mind. A gross, squishy noise demanded her attention to her left. The couple sitting on that side of her appeared to be slobbering all over each other. She turned away in disgust, hoping she wouldn't need to kiss Draco like that. Looking reluctantly at her, Draco wrapped a possessive arm around her waist. She tried her best not to flinch, understanding what had to be done, but somewhere in the back of her head a fire burned that nursed thoughts of pushing his arm away and slapping him across his smug face. She pushed it further back, bit her tongue, and kept her face expressionless. She nibbled on some pudding absentmindedly, choosing to ignore the hand sending unpleasant chills down her back as a hand rubbed small circles. He leaned forward and whispered in her ear, she felt, as odd as it sounded, violated. From the table over she heard a ruckus rise up and be suppressed. A shout rang out across the dungeon.

"Potter! Weasley! Longbottom! Detention."

Draco smiled grotesquely. His hand crawled up her thigh. Her stomach tightened. His breath pressed on her neck. Her breath hitched. His hot, wet mouth came down upon the crook of her neck she could not breathe, the knot tightened, and her eyes watered. Her hand leapt down and pinched the skin on his knee through his robes and slacks. His leg jerked. He backed off. They smiled at each other, his eyes burning in outrage and her watered with hurt. They looked away from each other, but moved unhappily closer. They did not speak or look at each other again.

They were dismissed to their rooms: pureblood students to the dungeons, half-bloods to the Gryffindor tower, those in waiting for mates to Hufflepuff dormitories behind the kitchens, and the married couples to the Ravenclaw tower. The black and blue, starry tower was pleasant enough, but it was no Gryffindor tower. Apparently, she wasn't the only one put out by this change. Draco too seemed to miss the gloomy, dank confines of his precious dungeon.

'I suppose one learns to love whatever they call home,' Hermione pondered. 'I suppose one gets used to things, even bad things, and then you are afraid to let go of them.' But she thought no more of it.

The two of them went to the dorm room labeled in black, flourishing words: Malfoy. Once the door shut, she looked questioningly at her fiancée.

"Married couples share a room, betrothed share a room with separate beds. Those still in waiting share another dorm. Which one do you want?"

She cocked her head to the side. He was offering her choice of the beds. Well, that was gentlemanly. She glanced over at the beds which were nearly identical, one black and silver, the other blue and black, with navy drape curtains around them both. Beside each was a wardrobe just as it was in the past for students, along with a bedside table, and a desk. Next to each wardrobe was a dressing screen which was, like the thick bed curtains, navy with silver stars.

She indicated the blue bed and moved her things there. Draco took the other side without a word. The two readied for bed in silence. She went to her desk to prepare for the following day's lessons, wishing she could research Horcruxes, or help Harry and Ron search the castle for them. Sadly, she was stuck in what was formerly known as Ravenclaw tower with a blonde idiot reading what he suspected was a dirty magazine behind his bed curtains. She rolled her eyes and let out another agitated huff, hoping he would get the message. Angrily, she turned the page of her Charms text. At least she was in school still. She should be happy for that. She should be, but she wasn't. She was too busy thinking of her friends who must be sleeping in the Hufflepuff dormitories. She wondered if they'd snuck into the kitchens to get a snack and visit Dobby. Behind her, a soft noise met her ears. Turning around, she saw a thin framed house elf adding wood to the fire. It must be later than she thought.

"Hello." The elf jumped in surprise.

"Oh…sorry miss."

"Oh you didn't wake me. I was up. Here let me help you." She bewitched the fire to keep it burning. "Now you won't have to keep doing that. Are you cold?" she asked, spotting the elf's bare feet on the cold floor.

"No ma'am. I-I'm fine."

"Alright." She yawned, knowing better than to argue for once.

"Can I bring Miss some tea?" Hermione thought about it. She thought very hard. She thought of how easy it would be to put the tea by his bedside, to keep it warm, to poison it.

"No thank you." She said quickly and, deciding she needed some sleep rather desperately, retired to bed after that. But she could not sleep. She kept tossing and turning, expecting to see Draco over her, his wand in hand and a wicked smile on his face…

The next morning, she rose for breakfast and went to classes. Except for being grouped by their marital and blood status rather than house it was Hogwarts as usual. It was admittedly disappointing to be followed by Malfoy every waking moment. It was, if possible, even more insufferable than living in the same house as him. He was inescapable. When she ate, he was there. When she studied, he was there. When she went to sleep he was there. He left his towel on the bathroom floor, and her coat started to smell like him from being on the rack next to it.

However she felt better each time he fudged a potion, every time she learned a new spell before him, every paper of his she glimpsed on which her grade was higher. It was like a little light of triumph in the dark mist that was living with Draco. As if that wasn't enough, he wanted to know her every move, but would he himself would disappear for hours at a time. She wondered vaguely where he went, but was too grateful for her freedom to find out. She still wrote in the dairy and it was easy- she was just sarcastic.

For example, "His undeniable need to be center of attention is actually quite charming," she lied. And, "His maturity is surprising," she said, when it was more like lack there of. In fact, writing her so called reports was the most amusing part of her day.

She was able to ignore him when she studied for the most part and not having Harry and Ron in her class or house meant she hardly saw them and therefore felt next to no temptation to speak to them. On the other hand, as days passed, feeling identical and strung together, Draco became more and more irritable and resentful. Although Hermione had always been the better student, Draco had never done so poorly. On top of that, he despised anything she did and often picked fights. He picked up the habit of pacing their room when he felt especially caged. Something was to be gained even by their fights she supposed, for now Hermione had much more dueling experience and was able to practice her defense against the dark arts homework.

During her day, now that she was free to use magic, she practiced every spell in her "handy house hold spells" and her "standard book of spells" collection. In addition to that, she was only 14 rows from finishing the Hogwarts library- a very exciting achievement. Without the adventurous distractions of her friends she was able to get some serious reading done. Of course, she had to admit to lying awake a few nights wishing for an invisibility cloak and just wondering how they were getting on without her. Her classes were going extraordinarily well and she was doing extra credit work and readying for exams to busy herself. A few times she did take a walk along the lake, watching the boys at Hagrid's cabin with such longing she thought her heart may burst. Also in secret, she had Dobby come to her room when Draco was away late, and she had even been known to climb out onto the roof outside her window when it wasn't too cold, just to see how afraid she would feel. In short, she was exceptionally bored. She knitted and read and practiced and walked while Draco did God only knows for weeks until she was called to Snape's office for the first time.

"Come in Miss Granger." Once the door was shut Hermione felt her mask slip off for the first time in weeks. It came slowly and with a bit of difficulty, but it came. It felt like hat one had removed; the weight of it was still there.

"We have a problem Miss Granger." She almost smiled at that. At last- excitement, challenge!

"Anything I can help with headmaster?"

"Yes, in point of fact, it is." Snape got right to the point. "You are doing too well."

"Sorry?"

"There is no use in being sorry for it Granger."

"No, I mean, I'm sorry Sir, but I don't understand."

"Lucius Malfoy will feel that you out-doing his son in unacceptable. You, a mudblood, will make his son look bad. You are to be a proper mud-blood and show inferior intelligence to Draco."

"Are you saying, Sir, that you want me to get poor grades on purpose?" she could not contain the outrage at this.

"Well, circumstances cannot continue as there are."

"What would you have me do then?"

"Well, you can, as you suggested, do poorly, or you can help Draco to do well." She gave him a hard look, contemplating.

"It's a good idea except for one thing."

"And what is that?"

"Draco would never let me teach him."

"Draco fears his father's retribution. Now I have only warned you what will happen if you continue to out shine young mister Malfoy academically when his father sees the two of your grades this term. Draco only knows his father will be displeased with him. He will, no doubt, be insulted to have you teach him, but if you keep it secret and remind him of this small fact he may be inclined to listen. That is all." After that very short meeting Hermione's life was again changed and once again she was faced with an impossible decision. She must now fail on purpose or tutor Draco.

There was another option, a whisper told her, but she hushed it and went to find Draco. She found him on the quidditch pitch. She asked respectfully before his teammates if she may have a word after he finished practicing. Slightly taken aback by her politeness as well as by her request, he kindly, if bluntly, agreed. That evening, they walked to dinner together and Hermione made to delicately breach the subject of her proposition.

"Well, what did you want to say to me Granger?"

"I had a thought today."

"How unusual." She ignored the jibe.

"It would be very unpleasant business for us should I do better than you in our marks this quarter." He shot her a warning look.

"Well, let's face it you have been doing your best."

"Well what do you expect having to live with-"

"My point being: it's not going to be pretty for either of us, but it'll be worse for you to have your intelligence showed up by a mudblood. I can't imagine your father being pleased."

"Your point?"

"I know you won't like it, but I swear if you'll keep it absolutely secret if you let me tutor you-"

"Are you out of your damn mind Granger?"

"No I'm not actually. It makes perfect sense. If you would stop being so stubborn and swallow your pride-"

"Never."

"Fine. Fine. Have I your way then. I tired."

They ate their dinner in silence as usual. There was nothing to talk about as they had shared their whole day and shared no common interests. Trying to seem not as sick of each other as they were, they forced themselves to look pleasant and converse. Draco told her a tasteless dirty joke and she pretended to be amused. They agreed the pudding was better than the previous night. She added that to her tally of agreements they had come to. Now it was up to eight. Yippee. He snaked an arm around her thinning waste and she tired to force down a few more bites in spite of her loss of appetite.

As they were leaving, Draco spoke. "I thought it over."

"How unusual," she threw back at him. He too ignored it.

"You have as much to lose as I do by this marks deal." She grew cautious. "I've come up with the perfect solution."

"Really? Let's hear it."

"From now on, you do my homework for me. I'm sure you've done it for your stupid Gryffindor buddies before, so don't go all noble on me and say you can't. Besides, it's not as though you have something better to do."

"But that won't improve your grades on exams of help you brew your potions or write better papers..."

"It'll be enough if you do it."

"They'll notice!"

"They won't say anything."

"We could get expelled!"

"Hmm…then I guess you better try really hard with that."

"If you just let me tutor you-"

"No." he said firmly.

Over the next week, Hermione did Draco's homework for him by studying his handwriting and writing style. Using this, she gave the impression that he had almost mastered the subject as to acquire a good grade without raising suspicion. She omitted details she would normally include from her own work to lessen the gap. She supposed if nothing else, writing two papers for each class helped her master the material even more thoroughly, and being able to match Draco's handwriting exactly may prove a handy skill. By the time a test rolled around, the results were not good. For the second time, Hermione was called to the Headmasters' office.

"Hermione," Snape began. "I gave you two options to solve the problem with Malfoy. Cheating was NOT one of them."

"Clearly you're displeased."

"Clearly."

"He won't let me tutor him, I didn't want to not do well, and when he suggested it-"

"Draco's father will be even less pleased to learn that his son is cheating off of a mudblood, trust me. I give you one last chance Grange: chose or I'll simplify it for you. Greatly simplify it."

His warning was foreboding. "Yes sir."

"That's all."

With a heavy heart she dragged herself to History of Magic where she was handed her test. Draco was slamming himself in the forehead as he looked at the questions about the wars he had never heard of. She sighed heavily, fatefully raised her quill, and proceeded to fail.

When it asked her: "Who was the leader of the first group of witches to flee to America in hopes of living in the New World without concealing their magic?" she wrote: "Abraham Lincoln". Many she answered correctly, four she got backwards, two she left blank as if she skipped them accidently, and five she purposely misspelled. In tears, she handed in her test in record speed and left abruptly. The next week when Binns asked her if she wished to retake it, she refused and left the classroom in a hurry for a Charms class that didn't start for twenty minutes.

That night Draco found her writing furiously at her desk. On parchment after parchment she had written the correct answer to every question on the test over and over. She scribbled feverishly, as if writing it all down would undo her failing grade and prove to everyone she knew it.

"What is that matter with you?" he asked, almost concerned. "It's one bad grade. Get a hold of yourself. It happens to everyone. You didn't get it-"

"I got it!" She yelled. "I got it. I knew it all. 1566. Augustus Pilke. Sir Martin Smith. All of it!"

"Then how'd you fail?"

"I did it so our grades wouldn't be so far apart." He looked dumbstruck.

"Y-You did it for me?" he stuttered.

"Don't flatter yourself, Draco!" she snapped, on the verge of tears once more. "I did it for both of us. If you'd just let me tutor you this never would have happened!" He was quite for a moment and she called too, realizing how odd she'd been acting a second ago. Then, it was her turn to be surprised.

"I guess it was a good idea."

"What?"

"You heard me. So, are you going to help me or not? We have a charms test tomorrow." He grabbed a book. She stared at him for a moment, the quickly gabbed a chair and went to work.

"Okay, now the most important thing we covered in this chapter…"

For hours they studied. First, she reviewed the basic concepts of the chapter in a nutshell, as she had given Harry and Ron over the years. Then, he read the paper she had written for him and even offered to read hers. She actually was rather surprised by his intelligence and his cooperation. She quizzed him briefly after he flipped through the book and they quickly practiced the spells he had trouble with in class. By the end of it, he was greatly improved, but it was the also notably the longest they had ever been civil to one another.

While they had been studying, tea had been brought up and the two finished it in a slightly awkward silence. Draco looked at the clock and swore under his breath. Hermione caught it.

"Miss an appointment?"

"No. It's just late. I think I'm going to get ready for bed."

"Oh yes, me too then." And so they did, in further silence. The next few evenings continued in a similar fashion. Slowly, out of more desperation than anything else, the two began to talk. It wasn't about anything of dire importance, nor was it anything particularly entertaining. Lessons, spells, battles, teacher and students were the majority of it, along with the weather, the meals, and headlines. It gradually evolved to include political jokes, jokes about others, and random thoughts. The usual bickering and bantering maintained a high level, as did mutual suspicion and dislike, but even their arguments were actual arguments. Some nights they would study, some nights he would disappear for a quidditch meeting or what she called a mini-death eater meeting. She took that time to relax for herself.

After a while of their fighting that ended in drank wands and a heated exchange of curses, the two if dueling was inevitable, which it seemed to be, the least they could do was make it the least bit productive. They decided what could be more productive then if they both taught each other what they knew and practiced it on each other to vent frustrations. The problem with this was both were then teaching a member of the company of their enemy their fighting skills, but the two finally reached agreement number nine. Their conclusion was essentially this: if they were to work together, each needed to know their partner could hold their own and have the other's back in a duel. It would help them both in classes, which was, after all, the point of this session. Both were willing to risk something in order to learn what they other knew. It was greed and suspicion that brought about their accord, and shame at their decision which kept it secret. Thus Draco learned what the D.A. knew and Hermione learned classic form of several uncharted dark spells. If they were going to be stuck together fighting it may as well be productive, and that it was. Practice alone improved both of their speed and precision.

Sometimes it got out of hand, though. Too much aggression came out and someone got hurt. Those were times when they learned healing spells. Other times they were just too sick of each other and had to be stuck around each other. Each picked a separate corner and a different book and they tried to refrain fro speaking.

Hermione had trouble writing in her diary about the events. How to explain that they spent hours together? She said they weren't fighting as much anymore and were studying during that time, which was partly true.

Once Draco was caught up they rarely studied. Instead they found somewhere deserted and lonely and dueled. Hermione got out all her anger, all her frustration, all her unused energy then. She was disturbed at how much she enjoyed seeing Draco get so angry. She had not forgotten how handsome he looked when he became truly enraged. It disturbed her, but she couldn't stop herself from doing it again. Sometimes she wondered what he was getting out of it, but quickly forgot it as a hex tore her flesh.

**_A/N:_** _Well, it was tad short, but what did you think? Please review and don't forget to include what rating you want for this story. Thanks for reading!_


	15. Control

_**A/N:** Thanks for reviewing! The votes are in and the rating for this story will be T. I feel comfortable with this and it does not hinder me nor does it make people uncomfortable. Also, I would like to make everyone aware that this story has been nominated for **Dramione Awards** under marriage law fic, notable plot on Live Journal and I would greatly appreciate your support. Also, thanks to the reader who thought to nominate my story!_

**Stolen**

**Chapter 15:** Control

As the rain assaulted the windows and Hermione's wrist collided painfully with the ground, she wondered for a second: was it wrong what she was doing? Wiping the blood from her mouth, she reciprocated upon her attacker, sending him into a heap on the floor at the opposite side of the room. Draco coughed fiercely. She wondered if he was hurt, but before she could ask if he was alright, a spell pulled her feet out from beneath her and dangled her upside down in the air. The blood rushing to her head kept her from thinking about much of anything after that. She had to focus. She had had to control her anger, her thoughts. He released the spell and she hit the floor with a thud, knocking the breath out of her. Acting quickly, she managed to momentarily blind him. That was a new one, and, being nonverbal as well, it took him by surprise, giving her just the upper hand she was waiting for. In a few moves she had him right where she wanted him…

She kept an unlabeled tally in her diary, just marks, no title or anything. Anyone reading it wouldn't know what it referred to, but it referred to their fights. They totaled 23 so far and she had won six of them. Tonight made seven. Proudly, she made the next mark in her diary. Wouldn't it be fitting, she briefly thought, to make the marks in blood? Catching herself smiling, her body was swept with cold chills. She shook the thought from her head, and then moved over to Draco's bed to finish mending his wrist and applying a little more salve to the burn she had made on his arm. 

"What are you writing in that blasted diary all the time, Granger? Confessing your secret, undying love for me?"

"Of course," she answered sarcastically, avoiding the subject. He caught on to her diversionary tactics too quickly. 

"You didn't answer me." She made no move to do so. "Answer me," he repeated. She glared in response. "What are you writing?" he tried again. She smiled at his curiosity. She could have fun with this.

"Wouldn't you love to know?" 

"We'll make a deal."

"What kind of deal?" she asking, wrapping his arm. 

"You only tell me what you were writing today,"

"And?"

"And what?"

"And what's your end of the deal?"

"I'll teach you something."

"You teach me something…" she said, unsure.

"You'll like it, I promise." She wasn't sure she liked the gleam in his eye when he said that, but she couldn't help but be drawn in by that morbid curiosity. That old adage about a cat came to mind, but now she brushed it away. She could not even recall how it went exactly anymore and she couldn't say that she cared. The thirst for knowledge won out again. 

"What is it?" 

"A bit of a surprise."

"Is it a spell?"

"Maybe."

"A dark one?" she worried.

"How about let us have a look at that diary page…" She moved cautiously from him, a strange instinctual reaction.

"And you promise you'll show me?" 

"I promise."

She opened the page slowly and he leaned forward to see. "It's just a list." She told him. 

"A list of what?" He took it from her. She hesitated in her answer.

Thus far, they had not spoken of what they did in the evenings, not even in private. Though it was deliberate, they seemed to be unable to admit it. Therefore, the event was never planned, nor was it openly proposed at the time or acknowledged afterwards. One of them would always start an argument and one would egg on the other until they were mad enough to cast the first curse. From there, they took out their aggressions brought on by every bother of their day upon each other. It was liberating, because the violence was guiltless. It was then seen as justified. The other deserved it; they asked for it; they were hurting them too. 

'Besides, thought Hermione to herself, 'As soon as someone got hurt, they lost, and the game was over. Game? No, that was the wrong word, wasn't it? Whatever it was called, they had never spoken of it, before or after, even one it became part of their nightly routine. But,' she supposed, 'It was inevitable.'

"Our… battles." She called them, for lack of a better word.

"You keep score?" he asked in disbelief and partial amusement. 

"Yes." She said defensively, taking back the book. 

"If I had known that, I'd have tried harder."

"Oh."

"That gives me an idea." He got up suddenly and went to his drawer from which he extracted a familiar looking quill. "We can make the lines in blood, you know, to make it a bit more proper and…interesting."

She was startled that he had the same idea, and even more startled that he would actually propose it. However, what really disturbed her was that she was considering it. 

"If I lose, I make a tally mark under your score in my blood and if you lose you make a tally under my score in your blood." He explained. "Unless you're scared of a little blood Granger..

She held out the diary in response. "Make your mark then." He did. The blood glistened on the page for a moment, and then it dried. His hand showed only a scratch. 

"Now show me like you promised." She requested quietly. He raised an eyebrow, but acquiesced. 

"Stand on your side of them room." She did so. "I'm going to teach you a very dark spell, Hermione and its counter curse." Hermione said nothing as, slowly, grinning like a jackal, he circled around her. "Are you familiar with the Dark Lord's favorite method of, shall we say, bending the will of his victim's."

"You mean his favorite torture?"

"In a word, yes. He's a master of his craft. Do you know how? The same way any ordinary tradesman is. Olivander is the best wandmaker because he best understands the wand. But what does the Dark Lord so greatly understand and respect?" She did not answer.

He went on, "Every one of the unforgiveable spells has the same goal, and do you know what that is?"

"To inflict pain upon the victim?"

"Wrong. You inflict pain upon the victim with Crucio, but that's only half the battle. It's not only about disabling them; it's about taking their dignity as well. Control. Imperio ultimately controls the victim's actions in a blunt sense. Avada Kendavra: the ultimate act of control and the most blasphemous, control over another person's life. The Dark Lord isn't dangerous because of what he can do to your body. People can endure pain. It's not even about the fear he instills. People can overcome fear. The source of the Dark Lord's power is he knows how to take your control. He gets into your head and you panic. Then, the loss of control drives you mad. You can't think, you can't react, and then he has you. Panic. I'm going to show you some of that now. Are you ready?"

"When you say show me-" 

"I'm going to teach you how it was taught to me. You must understand what you are doing to your victim. That's what this school doesn't teach you. How are you going to properly fight something you don't understand?" he was getting frustrated, his distaste for the school's approach to Defense Against the Dark Arts more than evident in his voice. "You must understand if you want to fight it. You do want to fight it, don't you?"

She hesitated. "Yes." 

"Are you afraid already?" his voice mocked her cruelly.

"No," she defied him. "Aren't you going to tell me what is going to happen so I can brace myself for it?"

"You won't know it's coming if someone hits you with it. Besides, it won't help to know. Abaero!" 

She braced herself for the harsh blow that she was certain was to follow, but it did not come. No pain swept through her body and no wicked thoughts entered her mind. What did come did not come abruptly, but quite the opposite. She didn't feel any effect at first at all. Then, it dawned on her: she was not breathing. Her chest muscles instantly constricted, and she gulped for air. The cool gusts filled her mouth and throat, but it did not reach her hollow lungs. Impulsively, she gripped her throat, pounded her chest, gasped and gulped. Try as she might to force it in, it would not come. Every nerve in her body and her mind screamed at her, but it was like the air was pressing in on her like a heavy ocean, the weight of the water pressing down on her, suffocating her. She could think of not think of a jinx to throw at in return and no spell to try to relieve her suffering. She could think of nothing but oxygen and of her own helplessness as she breathed deeply and frantically in the midst of clear air. The terror of her former experience, of being poisoned back at Malfoy Manor, came over her. That terror began to consume her. It didn't take long for it to render her powerless, just as Draco had predicted. In spite of her previously bracing of herself and her usually strong self-control, chaos took over her mind and she fell to floor on her knees, gasping for breath she could not feel. She was begging Draco to release the curse, clinging to his robes, to undo it. At long last, he complied. 

She lay helpless at his feet drawing in deeply breath after breath.

"Are you okay?" he asked her reluctantly. 

"It was horrible." Evidence of her shame and fear slid down her face, so she kept her head low to hide it from him.

"I know." 

"I couldn't breathe!"

"Actually, you could. The spell doesn't constrict your airways. It just makes you feel like you aren't breathing. Now you know."

"Now I know," she panted. With an extended hand, he helped her up.

After that, they had no need to pick fights anymore. Unsure of when or how to start them, one would catch the other off guard in their dormitory at night and jinx them. A mock battle would ensue. The unwritten rules were still followed and this time the score was kept in blood. It was not very painful at all. 

Hermione was surprised to find she quite liked their little event being more out in the open and certain. At least she was able to take out all her anger, show all her skill. Draco's eyes burned like hot smoke and his hair flew into his face. Sometimes, he removed his shirt to show a pale, nicely formed chest, smooth with a few scars she found also surprisingly appealing. The way he looked at her sometimes, hungrily like a lion readying to pounce on his prey, vexed her for some unknown reason. Occasionally his coy or suggestive smile as he prowled made her squirm uncomfortably, but it also made her think, perhaps he too liked seeing her angry in they way she somehow enjoyed watching him.

Slowly, gradually, it became even more routine. They studied, they fought, they read, they went to bed. Still, nothing was said of it. They put away their books and stood, bowed, and the fighting commenced. However, it no longer ended quickly in a fiery outburst. Instead they skillfully worked their way up to an enraged state, adding stinging insults, and even crude threats, as they circled one another like expert swordsmen. Deny it as they might, it was a game she knew, and one full of taunts intended to get the other into frenzy, provoking violence. Each week however, the element of innocence faded and the level of violence intensified. Like any addiction, for that is what it had become for both though they would not admit it, each time they needed more to satiate their thirst for it. Each time it went further, became more dangerous, and therefore exciting. It was seductive, just as Snape said the dark side would be. Of course, she frequently reminded herself, fighting with Draco was hardly the dark arts. 

It was mid October before they could bear to speak of it public, and then it was in a sort of code. "Meeting at six?" one would say in passing.

"Yes." The other would say. Sometimes though, Draco couldn't make it and Hermione would frankly be lost without her routine, her outlet. 

"Out? Out where?" she snapped at him one evening he had to cancel.

"Nowhere, Mother." He growled, grabbing his cloak.

"What are you going to do?"

"Nothing." He was irritated.

"Well, you can do nothing right here."

"Try not to miss me too much." He shut the door with a snap.

She yelled furiously and threw an ink jar at the door in anger. "Damnit!" she shouted, surprising even herself. 'Perhaps it was an unhealthy addiction,' she thought. 'On the other hand, perhaps going a few days without it would make it better the next time around.' It did. That time, it was so long and challenging that afterwards they did not read as usual, but went straight to bed. 

That night, it stormed terribly. Hermione awoke with a jolt to hear soft footsteps crossing her room. She peaked through her curtain, breath held in suspense, to see it was Draco. He was opening the window upon which the rain was falling. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, his figure became clearer. It had never looked more appealing. His robe was open allowing the cold rain to blow in on his bare chest. He breathed deeply. She took in the sweet smell of it too. Her sniff brought his attention to her. He squinted through the darkness and, realizing it was just her, proceeded to climb onto the ledge and out the window. A tiny gasp of surprise escaped Hermione. She left the warmth of her bed to investigate.

He was standing on the edge of the tower roof, looking like another black silhouette of the castle statues cut out in the darkness. The rain pelted him, smoothing him over. A chill from the cold, wet night breeze shook her and she rubbed her arms to rid them of goose pimples. Draco looked like he belonged out there on the ledge, as strange as it sounded. She felt that biting in her stomach that she feared he may fall to his death. He did not seem to notice her until she spoke over the gale.

"Draco, be careful!" He turned and looked at her then, strangely. It was as if she was someone he had not seen in a very long time and then he did something completely unexpected. He smiled at her. Genuinely smiled. As much as she fought it, as weird as it was, she couldn't help but return it in the slightest, even if only for a fraction of a second. 

Draco must have known she hated heights. She certainly knew she hated them. Everyone knew Hermione Granger hated being off the ground, but for some strange reason she found herself accepting a hand and stepping cautiously onto the roof of the castle. Maybe she did it because he made it look so inviting and exhilarating. Maybe she was more afraid of backing down than of being out there. Mostly however, she was pretty sure she did it to see if she dared to take such a 

risk, simply for the thrill it would give her, like any other reckless teenager. Dangling so dangerously close to death made her feel more alive. 

It was not the same young man that watched the storms that she had hated throughout her early school years. It was not the same young man she hexed earlier that same night. She wondered what it was about the weather that transformed him. 

After a while, the two sat down, wrapping their legs around the stone gargoyles for support, and dangling their feet off the side of the tower over the courtyard. There, in the silence and the rain, they watched the dark clouds roll over the Hogwarts grounds, the trees of the Forbidden forest blow over, and the bolts of lightening strike the ground. While, she may not have understood what attracted Draco to the storms, she couldn't argue with their appeal. It was not visual appeal alone, though the effect of the lightening on the landscape was hypnotizing. It was not just the soothing rumbling of the thunder and of the rain tapping the roof. The storm also had a scent, and there was something in the air that was physically intoxicating. It was a hum of power and palpable vibrations from the massive release of energy that captivated all of one's senses. The way Draco looked when he sat there was, well, odd. It was like it was more than that. The flashes of light revealed something else. His experience frightened him and comforted him at the same time. He looked wistful at times, almost lustful at others. He looked completely mad with his eyes wide, but at other times on the verge of tears. Though she did not know what came over him, she did not mind and she did not want to break the serenity that surrounded him by pestering him with her questions. Besides, his obsession lured her in. 

They sat there until it slackened of to a misty drizzle and he stood, looking downcast. She followed his lead, entertaining no desire to stay out there alone. He climbed back in the window, but she hesitated. The thing she hated most about climbing up somewhere high was getting down. It seemed so much further to the floor of her room than it had coming out here. Draco, as out of it as he was, may only have noticed her still out there trapped on the ledge because he turned to close the window. He actually seemed surprised to see her there. For the third time he extended an arm, but this time it wrapped around her waist, shocking her. It squeezed lightly and lifted her up enough to place her down on the floor of their room. Her wet feet slipped a little on the hard wood floor as he blindly placed her down. She fell towards him. As he still had a hold of her, they were pressed uncomfortably close. 

Their faces actually brushed softly together and the brief moment was surprisingly intimate. Perhaps it was the dark that made it seem so, or the fact that their clothes were soaked through and sticking to their chilled bodies, pressed up against one another. What was most strange was that they held each other tighter for a moment, catching their balance or absorbing body heat. Only once they had let go of each other and looked away, Hermione blushing, did they notice they were both trembling quite a bit. They stepped behind their dressing curtains, and proceeded to strip their wet clothes off in the dark, unable to keep from listening to the other do the same. Without a word each crawled into their respective beds. 

This occurrence was not spoken of either. Hermione did not join him on the roof again. She heard him get up some nights, felt the rain blowing in, but she stayed put and listened. 

After a short while, Draco no longer required Hermione's help studying. Instead the two became competitive in their grades as well and shared no more peaceful moments. The fighting continued. Each time the line of quitting slipped a little further and the stakes grew. As it grew, she felt herself on the edge of great discovery, but perhaps a bad one. The way things were going she knew it could be dangerous. So far all their injuries had been minor, and easily healed, but what if there was an accident. It happened to even the best of wizards. What if something else was happening, something underneath that was not as obvious as bruises and cuts. Soon, it became apparent what was going on. 

After a particularly grueling day, having not fought Draco in two days straight, Hermione retired to her school work. Binns' test had been especially lengthy and the potion had been especially difficult. The homework had been pilled on. Under the school books were a plethora of restricted books she had lifted, all of them to help Harry with his all important search. Then, in from an extra long quidditch practice in the muggy weather outside, a flustered looking Draco requested while still out of breath: "Let's do it now." 

Against her better judgment, Hermione Granger put away her books and took out her wand. She was changing. She could feel it deep within her, in the way the magic coursed through her body, and the way Draco made her feel with his burning eyes. 

_**A/N:** Thank you for reading. Please review._


	16. Halloween

**A/N:** _Well, here it is at last.Thanks for the support in the nominations! Hope you enjoy it!_

_**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**_

**Stolen**

**Chapter 16:** Halloween

Hermione saw Harry and Ron often in the hallways. They looked at her with concern and some kind of longing. She looked away. She could not bear to see their faces and pass by without following after them. The sight of them slowed her steps and she grew quiet for hours afterwards. This seemed to agitate Draco, who was resentful of them and her strong desire to spend time with them. She, however, could say nothing of his put out mood, as she was bristly all day if he spoke to Pansy. She missed them terribly though, as she said to herself at least a hundred times a day, though it did no good.

Occasionally, she would turn to her left or right to say something to one of them, but they weren't there. At these times, Draco would look at her oddly until she turned back around, looking grim. Many times, after a class, she would catch herself heading towards Gryffindor tower rather than Ravenclaw. Slowly, it was driving her mad and it was a Thursday when she made a very foolish decision. She _had_ to see them. In fact, she told her self, she should have done it weeks ago.

Draco was planning to be out late the next evening, leaving right after dinner. She could then send word through Dobby the house elf for her friends to meet her in the room of requirement. At last, she was back being her former self- a mastermind of plots and schemes for the three of them. She finished her homework early and remained quiet until Draco left. He glanced at her oddly when she gave no signs of protest, but she did not acknowledge his glances.

She was free to roam the castle as she wished, so as long as now one saw her enter the room and she was back before Draco it should not be a problem. In the hallways, she was cautious anyway; weary of meeting someone who may be suspicious, like Snape. Luckily, she did not run into anyone. Entering the Room of Requirement as inconspicuously as one could, a smile graced her features and its appearance made her realize how long it had been since one had been seen there. An explosion met her as the door closed with a thud behind her, an explosion of color and noise.

Streamers and confetti fell from the ceiling in masses that covered her clothes and got mixed in her hair. She laughed and blinked through the joyful mess as a cheer rose up from Harry and Ron. Big band swing music blared from a wireless in the back of the room. In the center of the room there was a plain wooden table with three chairs, covered in snacks an a few more decorations. A huge, tattered Gryffindor banner hung from the ceiling. A fireplace, identical to the one in the tower, was on one wall of the room and a board from the D.A. at the back. Hugging them both, she moved towards the radio where the music was coming from and as the music changed from the upbeat "In the Mood" to something slow and smooth she read everything on the board as her friends told her of their progress and how much they all missed her.

She was impressed with what Harry had accomplished and let him know it. Of course, she had always recognized that he had tremendous potential as a teacher. Apparently, he had since thrown himself completely into training his fellow classmates, though meeting had become more difficult for them as they were all spread about the castle now. Ron mocked that Harry had turned into her by studying, what Ron considered to be, more than necessary. She did not find any studying to be superfluous, especially in Harry's situation. He would need to know all that Hogwarts could teach him.

Ron and Harry too had been practicing their dueling, in addition to making a more thorough map of the grounds of the castle. With Lupin's instruction, the boys had begun mapping out the forest as well, which Hermione agreed could come in handy. Neville as well had become surprisingly determined, making drastic improvement. At this rate they hoped they could manage to make the whole D.A. into illegal animagi by the end of the year, if Voldemort would allow them that long. Ron had been working harder in his classes now that Hermione wasn't there to save him, but History of Magic was still, as he so eloquently put it, 'the pits' and he needed her back desperately.

The old friends had themselves a little tea as they chatted away about the recent news, the new school practices, Hagrid and Grawp, and, of course, the Order. From those sources, for Malfoy's perplexing behavior was anything but helpful, they tried to surmise what Voldemort was up to.

"I've been reading up as much as I can to find out further location of the other possible Horcruxes, but I haven't had much luck in the library. I figured ordering anything would be difficult as I don't really know what to order, and, if I did, that would call attention to myself." Harry informed her.

Hermione snorted her into tea. "I think that may be because I have the books you're looking for: Slytherin fact and fiction, pure-blood histories, Hogwarts relics and such." She offered them a synopsis of what she had learned, though admittedly that was little, and they discussed the matter further.

"Well we know there is the ring which Dumbledore destroyed, the locket which has already been destroyed by- apparently- Sirius' brother, one was the diary Harry stabbed in second year, the cup belonging to Hufflepuff which is somewhere, and we can assume he also has something of Gryffindor's and Ravenclaws."

"What is the seventh though?" Harry queried for the millionth time. "Dumbledore said he would have made seven since that's the most powerful magical number."

"His snake?" Ron suggested. "You have to admit; he is weird when it comes to that animal."

"I don't think so," Harry said. "If that had been true, then he could have used the snake to regenerate in my fourth year, but he didn't use it in the spell."

"The basilisk then? It's a possibility. He's always been so proud to be a Parslemouth," said Ron with disdain.

"No Ron, I don't think so," Hermione argued. "No one has ever made a Horcruxe of a living thing. To do so would kill it, almost certainly."

"Yeah but we don't know much about it, do we? Just because no one has ever done it before doesn't mean it can't happen." Ron argued.

"Yes Ronald, but we're dealing in probability here. The point is we have to look at the most likely options first."

"It would have shown that piece of him when I destroyed it in second year, like the dairy." Harry contributed.

Ron seemed to concede it with a tilted nod of the head. "Then where do we look?"

"I've been thinking of that." said Harry. "Voldemort gave Malfoy his diary for safekeeping. Do you think it's possible that Malfoy has another one hidden somewhere?"

"I-I don't know. They don't exactly tell me their family secrets Harry." She told him, put off at the mention on Draco's foul family.

"I know Hermione," said Harry patiently. "But think: is there anything they made especially off limits, anything of particular value to them?"

Ron questioned: "What are the chances that he put two of his Horcruxes in the same place? Wouldn't that increase the chance of them both being found? I mean, a piece of your soul is not exactly something to be hidden lightly."

"Probably, but still, we'd hate to overlook something right under our noses-think Hermione!" Harry urged.

"I…" she began with the intention of agreeing with Ron for once, before something occurred to her. "Something especially off limits…" she wondered aloud.

"Yes." Harry said, almost eagerly. "Something somewhat ordinary at first glance maybe, that they would have been very upset if you had touched it."

"The book…"

"Another book?"

"Could it be?" she looked past them, her hands outstretched in the way they were when she had held the book in her hands, the book she had been forbidden to touch.

"What book Hermione?"

The shock would not wear off. She had frozen and could not answer.

"Hermione, what book?" Harry demanded.

"It's part of Malfoy's family history. I had in my hands, but I never thought…"

"But why would Voldemort use Malfoy's family's book? It doesn't make any sense, unless they are related…" Ron began.

"I doubt it." Harry debated. "Malfoy would have made that sort of connection known, or at least hinted at it."

"No, it's the Malfoy's ancestor, Casus. He was some sort of martyr for the pure-bloods."

"Then, maybe he would have," Harry reconsidered. "Hermione, do you think you could get it for us?"

"I had it."

"You did?" they both exclaimed.

"But they discovered it and took it. There is no chance of getting at it now, especially if it is a Horcruxe."

"Could you maybe get Malfoy to get it for you?" Ron ventured.

"Ron, that's a great idea! Yeah, Hermione, could you?" Harry pleaded with her.

"I-I don't know if he would-"

"He probably has no idea what it really is, remember? Charm him."

"Charm?" she scoffed.

"Well, yeah. You are woman after all."

"Well spotted." She quipped, while she supposed she should have been flattered, there was something hurt by her friends comment.

"Come on, Hermione, could you give a try?"

"I could try."

"Great."

"Which would mean we still have something of Gryffindor's and Ravenclaw's to find…"

"I was thinking of that." Hermione started shyly. "We all know the story of the Hogwart's founders and how Slytherin and Gryffinor had a falling out. I've read that it wasn't their disagreement alone that finally ended the harmony. I've read rumors about it in Hogwarts, a History. It's claimed by some that Slytherin and Gryffindor also argued about paths to power and even immortality," she told them in a hushed voice.

"Hocruxes," Harry speculated.

Hermione nodded and went on, "Other stories say Slytherin actually stole something from Gryffindor. And where would Slytherin hide something that important?"

"The Chamber of Secrets," Harry finished her thought.

"Harry, do you think you could slip down there?"

"I dunno Hermione, maybe if we created a diversion."

"Good, then we'll do that. Now: what about the other one?"

"Ravenclaw's relic?" asked Harry, rhetorically. "What about Gringotts?"

"The bank?" asked Ron.

"Hagrid told me there was no safer place. If I wanted to hide something, I'd put it there."

"Does Voldemort have a vault?" Ron asked.

"I don't think it would be that simple." Hermione doubted.

"Maybe Tom Riddle has one. His true name isn't exactly highly publicized." Ron continued.

"Maybe he gave it to someone else he could trust." Harry thought aloud.

"Like who?"

"Any number of people: Malfoy, Bellatrix, Crouch J.R.."

"Wouldn't the Ministry know if it was in Crouch's vault, or Bellatrix's?"

"These are Goblins we're talking about Hermione." Ron informed her. "They don't take sides. They deal strictly in business, policy, and gold. They wouldn't open that vault for anyone but the beneficiary, even it was Voldemort himself. It could still be in any of their vaults. Or Snapes." He added as an afterthought.

"Ron! We trust Snape. How you can say that after he saved Harry's life?"

"He doesn't know we're looking for Horcruxes. Maybe he has it but he doesn't know what it is or that we're after it."

"Dumbledore would have found out though." Harry contradicted him.

"Yeah, I guess that's true." He partially conceded. "Maybe he didn't though. Maybe he didn't know it was important enough to mention."

"But then who has it?" growled Hermione in frustration. "It's like playing that that carnival game- you know, the one where you are trying to choose which little duck the "x" is under it to win the prize? Five ducks, four chances. In reality, I bet the "X" isn't under any of them." She sighed, "I bet it's all rigged."

"Don't worry Hermione, we'll find them." Harry tried to console her.

Ron offered: "I can ask Bill to look through some records, see what's in the Death Eater vaults. He's in the Order so he'd do it. He won't ask too many questions either if its Death Eaters were talking about."

"Alright."

"And I'll go down into the chamber one night when the D.A. makes a diversion. Meanwhile, you just try to get Draco to get you that book. Manipulate him, you know."

"I'll try."

"Let's have some butterbeer." Ron offered, producing some from a canvas bag. The sudden change in subject was much appreciated and made both Harry and Hermione laugh with relief. The mood lifted like a rain cloud as the three sipped butterbeers and jokingly reminisced for hours on end.

"Remember, remember that time Harry," Ron cackled, "When Hermione got turned into a cat?" He cracked up again. Harry joined him, doubled over.

"Oh don't remind me!" Hermione scoffed.

"She-she had a tail!" Harry managed before succumbing to ridiculous giggles. She couldn't help but join in, that is until she looked at the time.

"Oh my God! I should have left hours ago!" She leapt from her chair. The music came to sudden stop as the steamers fell from the ceiling, slowly and gracefully. The laughter too came to an abrupt end.

"Well, I suppose this is it, for a while at least." Harry said, rising as well.

"We'll see each other in classes and the hallways and-" tears suddenly sprang to her eyes an she grabbed them both in a quick hug. "I've really got to go. Draco will be back by now-"

"When will meet again?" Ron asked.

"I don't know!" she shouted over her shoulder as she exited the room, leaving her two friends standing dumbstruck and gloomy in the middle of it.

She ran as fast as she could back to the dormitories, not even bothering to quiet her footsteps in the marble hallways. With unusual luck, she made back to the tower without being stopped by Filch or a single teacher. Stopping on a dime outside her door, she collected herself, catching her breath and smoothing her hair. She wiped off the smile she had carried all night and slowly opened the door, hoping Draco was either late or already asleep. Exactly why she had a feeling he would not be she could not explain, but her intuition was right. He sat on the navy settee by the fire, sipping something she assumed was tea. Though it was obvious he was wide awake, he made no move or indication that he aware of her entrance. He went on sipping his tea. She took advantage of his indifference by immediately making to ready herself for bed.

She was behind her dressing curtain putting on her favorite nightgown when she heard him get up and move. She assumed he too had made his way to bed until she saw his shadow outside her dressing curtain. Finally, he spoke, making her start.

"Where were you?"

"Studying."

"You can study here."

She said nothing, but thought that sounded awfully familiar.

"You were with them, weren't you?"

"Who?"

"Don't be coy with me." He sneered. She did not move from behind her thin wall, as if it were there to protect her. She could think of nothing else to say.

"Goodnight." That shook him, took him by complete surprise. She had ended the conversation. She had taken control. That was not what was supposed to happen. She passed him and crawled into bed, drawing her curtains as if she paid him no mind whatsoever. She did though. Long after the shock wore off and she heard him climb into bed, she stayed awake full of recent memories of her time with her friends and waxing concern that it was not safe for her to sleep so close to an angry Draco Malfoy.

Over the next week, everyday leading up to Halloween, Draco did not once stay in the evenings to participate in their ritual. She pretended not to care, but it wasn't long before she was craving it. Unlike him, she could not escape every night, as meeting her friends too often would draw dangerous attention to them. They remained on as pleasant terms as ever, if a bit cold. She told herself such an arrangement was better, but she could not shake the feeling of missing their usual activity. Before long, she was yearning for it, dropping shameless hints to Draco who played exceedingly ignorant to her complaints. Once she even tried agitating him, to see if it would provoke him, but he just smiled at her coyly.

'Damn him!' she thought vehemently. 'He's doing this on purpose. That despicable little rat- I'm going to kill him!' It was thus that the secret whisper snuck back into her head: kill Draco. Why would she do that? It was ludicrous, unless, maybe, he deserved it. He was a cruel man, and a deceitful one. He was arrogant. He was asking for it, egging her on… What difference would it make anyway if hand slipped in their next little duel? No!' she chastised herself. 'Perhaps it was best, safer this way. There would be no more duels.'

Why was she thinking this way? Why was she even considering such a thing? This was not Hermione Granger. What had happened to her? She sat alone in the dormitory on the evening of Halloween with no homework nothing else to do in its absence. It was pathetic, and where was Draco during all of this? Where was her fiancée?

It began to nag at her, knowing annoyingly in the back of her mind at odd moments. When she really thought about it, she wondered how she had been so foolish. He had disappeared every night for a week. What was he up to and why wouldn't he tell her? Was she being paranoid? She should have been keeping an eye on him! He could be up to anything. She leapt from her chair at her sudden realization-she had to find him.

'Think,' she told herself pacing. 'If I were Draco, where would go?'

Before she could act on her musings, an owl swooping in her window and landed on her bed with a plop. She immediately crossed to her bed and picked up the letter the owl hand dropped just as it rushed back out the open window. Although it was addressed to her, she threw more than furtive glance around the room before opening it, for her name was scrawled over it in familiar handwriting.

The letter itself was even more difficult to discern than her name had been, but it took only moments to spot the writer's name scribbled haphazardly at the bottom. At this, she gasped in surprise and recognition, but if that had taken her off guard, it was nothing compared to what awaited her in the letter's actual context. Though not entirely legible, the more she read it the more sense she gathered, though she soon wished she had not comprehended a singe word.

She felt the blood drain rapidly from her face, her hands shaking as she held the letter, rereading it over and over in disbelief. Her breath came in trembling, silent sobs until hurried footsteps outside the door made her gasp. She wiped her tear stained face and slipped behind her dressing curtain just as the door swung open.

Draco's mischievous laughter filled the room as he stumbled in drunkenly. Concealed behind her curtain, Hermione frowned. Before she could slip out to reprimand him for such blatant foolishness however, another voice in the room made itself known. The sickly familiar sound made Hermione feel very cold and numb. It was Pansy's voice.

"Draco, calm yourself. You've got look sober for the feast tonight." She giggled revoltingly, making Hermione taste bile in the back her throat.

There was soft, secretive laughter, the smacking sound of drunken kissing, and the squeak of bed springs. Hermione slowly covered her mouth is shock and disgust. Pansy was talking to Draco who was moaning slightly and laughing quietly while Hermione's eyes burned with more white hot tears. Still, she crouched behind the safety of her shade, unable to neither move nor make a sound.

"Bloody hell! We're going to be late!" Draco leapt up with another pronounced squeak of the bed. Soon and Pansy's laughter dissipated, their fumbling around ended with a slam of the door, and their rushed footsteps faded away. When she could hear them no longer, Hermione stood and, clutching her letter tightly in her hand, broke into loud and mournful sobs. She told herself it was over the content of her letter alone, but she knew even then it was a lie. How could Draco do that to her? Had he been running around with Pansy the whole time? She was humiliated and furious. On top of everything, he had now endangered the cover they had worked so hard to secure and with it their safety.

Her sobs chocked and suffocated her, so much so that she became desperate for fresh air and fled to her window, undoing the latch and throwing it open wide. The air had never felt so light. Amidst it, she felt detached from all her troubles and longed to be surrounded with it. Distraught, she climbed out onto the ledge to be free of the stifling room.

Oddly, the altitude did not frighten her this time. In contrast, it was liberating. Perhaps that was because before that she had cared whether she fell or not. Now she could not manage such hope. There was none left in her, not for her partnership with Draco, the war, even for her friends. Her own life would surely end soon anyway and what kind of life had it been? What of her potential her teachers had so encouraged? Was it laid to waste? She could not help but feel violated, that the life she was meant to have had been stolen from her. What was left?

The ground looked incredibly soft and green from above, rolling in waves on the breeze that played with her hair, softly drying her face. Looking straight out at the sky around her made it seem as though she were but one of Draco's falcons, able to take off on the winds at any moment. She had only to stretch and step off the ledge.

Instead, she sat down carefully and remained there as the sun set and the students entered the great hall for the Halloween feast. She cared nothing for the food she was missing, nor did she think of those that would wonder at her absence. What would Draco say? She paid his predicament no mind. It was only the light and the cool, crisp autumn air in her thoughts on the ledge. Hermione Granger did not feel at all herself, and she most desired in that moment not think of anything, least of all of Draco's stinging betrayal and Krums' fateful letter.

Persistent tears returning, she unfolded the fist that held the crumpled transcript and read it again in spite of her pain, perhaps only to prove to herself that it was true.

_**Hermione-**_

_**I write this last letter in hopes it will find you in time … (indecipherable)… I pray that it is not intercepted. I beg your pardon my dear friend, for my former cowardice. I have faith that you, however, have chosen the right side in this Great War and if my hopes are not mislaid, you find the following information invaluable. **_

_**I have uncovered a great and terrible secret which, in the right hands, may help to end this war. If history has taught us anything, Hermione, it is that no one is undefeatable. There are paths to immortality that magic can provide, but all these paths can be intercepted. **_

_**I have little time left to live, of this much I am certain, so let me be frank and brief: Lord Voldemort has taken measures, extreme measures it is true, to ensure his survival, but even this magic can be fought. Moment s ago, I destroyed one of the Dark Lord's links to immortality in the form of a silver goblet. Now it is up to you, my most trusted friend, to destroy the reaming, hidden six. Be wary, the seventh is close to you and will be hardest to destroy, for it is his wisest measure taken by the Dark Lord to secure his longevity- his only weakness has been turned into his greatest strength!**_

_**I have faith in you and the courage of your friends. I ask only that you judge not too harshly my moments of weakness, my dear Hermione. **_

_**Burn this letter. Trust no one.**_

_**Farewell,**_

_**Viktor Krum**_

It was not until the cool night air made her shiver violently that she came somewhat back to her senses, only to realize she was about a hundred meters up on a tower of Hogwarts. She felt the fear creep back into her chest, locking her in her spot-she did not dare move to go back inside.

Upon the ledge she stayed, gazing at the stars and compulsively reviewing her constellations she memorized in her first two years of school. It really was growing unreasonable cold, her chattering teeth protested, but her stubborn legs refused to budge. Her nose and face stung in the whistling gale from which she had no protection. An hour passed, maybe two, and then there was slamming door behind her. Its harsh sound whipped her attention in the direction of her room. Draco had returned. Hair tousled, face fuming, and motions rushed, she watched his form crossing the room through the fluttering curtain.

"Who in the _hell_ left this bloody window open? It's freezing out!" She heard him vehemently exclaim, crossing to the window and snapped it shut. Hermione let out a low growl of frustration, and then sighed hopelessly. Within moments, however, the window flew open again to reveal a fierce looking Draco gazing at her in surprise.

"What are you doing out there?" he asked, not bothering to hide the fact that he was dumbstruck.

"Getting air." She said simply.

"You really are mad." He stated, as if he'd come to a sudden and serious realization.

"Are you going to let me in or not?" she requested in a surly manner. He stepped aside to let her in, his eyes still ablaze with anger. Then again, maybe it was not anger as she had formerly assumed, perhaps it was lust.

'Perhaps it was his especial fascination with her,' she reflected sickly. When she made no move to come in, it vexed and confused him further.

"Well are you coming in or are you going to sleep out there?" He too was growing short tempered.

"I-I can't." She replied dejectedly. She removed her gaze from his cruel face to stare at the shadows below covering the grounds. She expected stinging remarks, dry sarcasm, and the mocking laughter. None came. Where was the snap of the shutting window? Where was his witty insult so heatedly thrown?

In their place, something else greeted her. There was a sigh, not so much exasperated as resigned. Then, she felt her back become unexpectedly shielded from the breeze. A solid warmth pressed against her and breath came out in wisps of smoke around the curve of her neck. Legs slipped easily on either side of her own as strong arms wrapped around her stiffened midriff, pulling her even closer. His body squeezed her in, keeping her from falling, and the two were so close that she imagined someone below might mistake their forms for one person. She kept her eyes forward, not turning to look at his smug expression as he lifted her off her feet and made for the open window. She grabbed tightly onto him reflexively; for he was warm compared to the night chill on the ledge and the only thing between her and hundred meter drop. Though grunting with the effort, he stepped in through the window as gracefully as could be managed in such a position, despite the distinct scent of alcohol on his breath. Releasing her wordlessly, he then tried to disentangle himself from the fluttering curtains. Remembering herself momentarily, she wiped her face and shoved the letter forcefully into her pocket before he could see it and ask. _Trust no one. _

There, her knuckles collided with her wand. Her chilled fingers instinctively gripped it. It gave off unusual warmth that sent ideas whirling madly in her dizzy head. She looked at Draco, who was attempting to shut the window against the invading wind. She backed away from him as it snapped shut, still fingering her wand.

He turned towards her, gazing at her queerly but angrily nonetheless. The sight of that smoke smoldering behind those eyes of his set her wild and, before she knew what she was doing, she had whipped out her wand and hit him in the jaw with a nasty hex that tossed aside his head sharply, spraying the floor and curtain lightly with blood.

_**A/N:** Please leave a review to let me know what you think! Thanks for reading!_


	17. Almost a Pleasure

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter or anything relative. It's J.K.'s. This story is written for entertainment only.

_**A/N:** Well, here it is! A brand new chapter and during exams no less! I do hope you enjoy it. It is the longest chapter yet! Please let me know what you think of it in a review! They are endlessly important. Speaking of that, thanks so much to all the people who reviewed last time! Also, if you are not aware already, anyone who would be willing to create fan art of a scene from this story gets to view the new chapter before it posted. As always, thanks for reading!_

**Stolen**

**Chapter 17:** Almost a Pleasure

The spots of red liquid on the wood and the light curtains made something inside Hermione tremble. Without warning, reason momentarily returned to her like a slap in the face. What on earth was she doing? Oh yes, she recalled calmly once again, she was going to kill Draco.

Nothing short of incensed, Draco reciprocated the attack without question or hesitation. Her shivering body was tossed across the room where it collided painfully with the bookcase. The floor, she felt, was unreasonably solid. As she looked up through her tussled hair, glimpsing his face, she noted that the spell must have been more powerful than she had anticipated as the damage was pretty harsh. Indeed, it the worst she had inflicted upon him. His face was covered dripping with bright red remnants of her temper. It dribbled down his chin and sprayed from his mouth as he spoke. "What the bloody _hell-_"

He did not finish his sentence before Hermione struck him yet again; this time jerking his legs out from under him, causing him to fall hard on the floor with a forceful thud. He spat blood into a puddle in the floor as he rose and shot a stinging hex at her, but she only laughed madly. This time she was not playing games. She was out for blood.

"Expeliarmus!" His eyebrows shot upwards in surprise as his wand flew from him. "Sectumsempra!" she shouted, the words spraying from her mouth like the most vile venom, his own mouth gaping, unable to block the attack. It did not take long for her to realize, however, that she had gone too far.

Draco did not shout another spell nor did he rise from his spot on the floor. His chest heaved upwards, but it was shallow and labored. The color drained from her at the first sight that something was amiss. She rose, knees visibly shaking, and proceeded cautiously towards his prone figure, dreading the very worst, or at the least an unexpected attack.

"Draco?" she ventured, in an untrusting tone. Then she heard it: the most dreadful sound that she was certain had ever met her ears. It left her both disgusted and stricken with sudden paralyzing panic. It clouded her vision and hitched her breath as what remained of her composure was torn asunder. It was a revolting sound, one that meant she had crossed a line from which there may be no recovery. His mouth full of blood, Draco made a gurgling sound in response.

Pausing only for a moment in appall, she rushed to his side, her eyes already wide, praying it was not as bad as it seemed. His face was even more insipid than hers and surrounding him in a contorted halo was his own dark, glossy blood. She trembled as she touched his face that had frozen stiff in fear or disbelief. His hands wriggled like an infant who lacked control of them. His eyes stared blindly ahead. Now she knew his stillness was not a dirty trick. Rather, he was gravely injured. His vital fluid came forth in perverse amounts, literarily flowing from the side of his mouth and choking him as it poured down his open throat.

"Draco," she gently placed her hand on the right side of his face and turned it towards her. She should not have. As he blindly faced her, his jaw fell back lopsided and partially detached, into her palm. She gasped in shock and dismay. Her hand began to tremble uncontrollably as she watched, immobile, his blood pouring over her hand like wine from an over-filled goblet. The white of his teeth and bone and the pink of his severed skin and muscle were exposed grotesquely. His cough, as the blood from the wound slipped down his wind pipe, sent a soft spray of it into her face. He gagged on it. She relinquished his jaw, allowing it to fall back so that he could breathe. She closed her eyes in horror and swallowed the burning bile that threatened the back of her throat.

Hermione's breathing grew faster and more desperate by the moment as reality began to come crashing back. His body on the other hand, remained rigid, stupefied. She had done this, she, Hermione. How? She could barely remember how it had begun. She had ravaged his beautiful face, left her fiancée bloodied and torn. Grief and repentance for her irrevocable acts overwhelmed her. She leaned forward over him, prostrate, and wept as all hate for him dissolved in her desperation for absolution of her sins, for his forgiveness she knew he would not give. She wailed pitifully over his butchered, still-breathing body, long guttural moans and sobs wracking her body. Even in the midst of such panic, logic shouted at her from nowhere demanding she elevate his head to reduce shock, place her fingers hard against the open wound, and call for help. She summoned her patronus, sending an urgent message to Snape.

"Oh gods! I'm s-so s-sorry Draco." She held his jaw with one hand applying pressure until help could come, the other smoothing his hair. "I-I d-di-didn't mean to-." She heard footsteps in the common room unexpectedly soon, and she yelled as loud as her stinging lungs would allow her.

"Up here! Up here! HELP! Please help!" she looked down at the young man in her arms. "They're coming, Draco." She consoled him. He did not seem to be present.

Unconsciously, she leaned down and kissed his forehead lightly, as she would one of her friends had they been injured. Once she did, she found herself unable to stop. There was something comforting in the intimate touch of her lips to his skin, somehow reassuring. There was still warmth there. He was still alive.

The door flew open to reveal Severus Snape as irate as she had ever witnessed her professor be. He was openly fuming. His voice boomed and hissed vehemently a he demanded of her: "What have you done?"

She turned her head in shame, unable to answer, and utterly dissolving into tears again. The tears blurred her vision as Snape's dark form approached and snatched Draco from her clutches. "No!" she protested.

"Hermione, he'll die." Snape informed her firmly, taking him from her. She remained limp on the floor, her face turned from him. A sickening dripping sound indicated that his blood was dripping onto the floor. Snape audibly winced at the sight of Draco's injuries, murmured some sort of spell she could not discern, and fled straight away, leaving her laying alone on the floor, shaking with fear and shock and sadness.

Immediately, she tore off her blood soaked clothes and went, naked, to the bathroom where she cleaned her hands and face of blood, scrubbing them raw. Picking up her clothes to throw them in the hamper, something crumpled. It was the note. She did not look at, but instead, hiding it in her desk, sh, , s, e then went straight to the hospital wing. Keeping her head bowed as she rushed down the hallways, she passed urgently whispering professors McGonagall and Sprout without a word though she felt their eyes boring into her back, perhaps with concern, she hoped. As she reached the door, it was slung open from the other side. Snape glared down at her, looming like a great bat.

"To my office. Now" His tone left no room for contestation, but there was no need for such forcefulness as she had not the energy to object. Stepping inside the Headmaster's office, the door shut behind her with a snap as Snape strode to his desk, robes billowing menacingly as ever. She stood awkwardly before him, looking very much like a child who had been caught doing something very naughty and was about to be punished. It was funny, but she almost thought she could still feel the blood on her face. It made her wonder vaguely, if she had looked, would she still see it on her hands. His sharp voice redirected her attention.

"Well, miss Granger,"

"Well sir?"

"Well, have you completely cracked or did you intend to attack mister Malfoy?"

"I'm so sorry Sir. It was accident. I just got very angry with him and-and,"

"Tried to kill him apparently, which, if you recall, was a direct violation of my very first rule for this mission I gave you.

"No!"

"Oh? You thought the spell you directed at him would have a different effect did you?"

"Well, no but-"

"Well **what** miss Granger?" He stood. "What excuse could you possibly have for your actions?"

"I just got so angry with him for jeopardizing everything we've done by messing around with that foolish tart Pansy Parkinson right under my nose!"

"Oh I see. You were jealous." He stated plainly.

"No, but I didn't know it would hurt him so gravely. Will he-?"

"Die? No certainly not. Madam Pomfrey has healed him completely. With a good night's rest and some blood replenishing potion he should be fine. Between the damage the two of you inflicted upon him, I'd say his in a for rough night of recuperation."

"The two of us?"

"Miss Parkinson apparently slipped him a love potion, one with painful side effects, along with providing him a good deal more celebratory alcohol than was necessary. I dare say that after tonight mister Malfoy will be a good bit more inhibited with women. Really though, Miss Granger, _that_ spell?"

"It had never had so much power when I used it before-"

"Miss Granger! Do you mean to tell me this is not the first time you have used this spell?"

"Well, no. This was not exactly our first dispute."

"I see, and have you nearly killed him before this?"

"No! It's usually him that comes out on top."

"On top?" he raised an eyebrow.

"You know what I mean." growled Hermione, blushing furiously.

"I see." He repeated, taking his seat again. "And did you truly think that attacking him would be a good way to win his affections? Sit down Miss Granger." She sat.

"Do you know why despite all my other objections to you taking this mission I gave my approval?" She shook her head to indicate how clueless she was.

"When Dumbledore first proposed this-"

"Dumbledore?"

He ignored her revelation and continued. "I assented because I believed, as Dumbledore did, that you above anyone else would have compassion for him, that you could show him sympathy, and help bring him over to our side. The same sort of chances you would give to treacherous house elves, wild dragons, and dumb giants, is that too much to ask for him? Or, can you not let go immature anger at him for his silly school years insults?"

"Like you?" The question was intended to be scathing at his hypocrisy, but Snape gave no indication that he had heard bold remark.

"You do realize, do you not, that is, after all ,the major goal of your mission? It is not clear to you that if we win he will die unless you can salvage him from the dark side?"

At last, she understood, but it only made her feel all the worse. She voiced aloud words she never truly believed she would be forced to utter: "I failed."

"No you haven't. Not yet anyway. To be honest I expected you two to nearly kill each other long before now." She was surprised at his comment and did not hide it. "Now, perhaps you can use this accident to your advantage."

"How, sir? Draco will surely hate me all the worse now."

"Be clever, Hermione. That's your specialty, is it not? "

"Sir, you mean, I'm not being punished?"

"If only such domestic violence were rare in the castle these days. I do not want to draw attention to this. That could jeopardize the mission if the Malfoys found out, possibly jeopardize more than that."

She shuddered in response to that. He was right of course, Lucius would have killed her, plot be damned.

"Besides, I have quite a good deal more to worry about than your lover's quarrel gone sour. Those so called friends of yours made enough trouble for me last night."

"Ron? Harry?"

"Do not sound so surprised. Those two have caused more mischief in this school than their role models the Weasley twins or those infernal Mauraders. I'm the one who is surprised- that they've made it this far into this year without being sentenced to lengthy detention yet."

"If you don't mind me asking, professor, where were they when they were caught?"

Snape sat back and gave her an appraisingly look. "Where do you think they were found?"

"Perhaps they slipped into the Chamber of Secrets?"

"Order business?"

"Possibly,"

"I see. Well, to keep up appearances they will still have to be punished of course."

Hermione frowned. "I suppose." She conceded, having no place to argue with Snape at the moment.

He grunted in response. She took it as a dismissal and turned to leave. She was half way through the door when his soft tones stopped her.

"Are you aware that November first is Draco's birthday?"

"November first? That's tomorrow!" Snape gave her a nod and went back to his business. "No, I wasn't, sir. Thank you."

She left, heading not in the direction of the hospital wing, but to the dormitories. There, she rummaged in her desk for her coin purse, grabbed her traveling cloak, and rushed to the statue of the one-eyed witch. True, she had not the slightest idea what to get Draco for his birthday. There was also the chance that she would be caught of course, but it hardly mattered. She slipped into the statue and made her way down the underground secret passage toward Honeyduke's sweet shop in the neighboring town of Hogsmeade.

Although she rushed, most of the stores were closing when she emerged. After casting a dissolutionment charm on herself to avoid detection, she was able to unlock the door easily enough and slip out onto the street. Once outside, however, she was again faced with the fact that she had no idea where to go as she had not the slightest clue what he might want or need. Looking around the empty streets and lanes, dusted with layers of colorful autumn leaves, lined with pleasant shops, lights twinkling in a window here and there, she reflected that perhaps Knockturn Alley would be a more fitting place to look for a Malfoy gift. What's more, choices were further limited by the time of night she had chosen to do her last minute shopping. Just before she despaired, she spotted a very old brick building, charming nonetheless. She approached the frosted windows to read the sign. It was a jewelry store, still open.

'Why not?' she wondered before wandering in, eyeing the ringing bell and removing the charm to reveal herself. An elderly wizard, clean cut and white haired, walked slowly in the room. One foot drug slightly, and the tap of a cane accompanied it. Soon his figure became clear and Hermione made mental note of his tasteful, formal dress.

"Can I help you?" he asked gruffly.

"Yes, please sir. My name is Hermione, er, Malfoy and-"

"Malfoy, eh?"

"Yes sir. My husband is Draco Malfoy and I was looking for a birthday present for him. I thought perhaps a ring. Do you do engraving?"

"Yes ma'am."

"I was wondering, maybe a silver ring, with a flat face to engrave."

"No emerald?"

"No sir, just the silver please. He has too much Slytherin colors, I dare say."

"I see. And what do you wish to engrave?"

"Perhaps the seal and motto of the family?"

"Can you sketch it for me?"

"Er," Hermione hesitated, but caught the look the man held on her and quickly recovered. "Of course, do you have some paper?"

He handed her some fine stationary and she did her very best to recreate the seal as she remembered it and, of course, the motto she knew so well. It was not easy, she had only dawn it once in her spare time and there was detail. She recalled the falcon, the snake coiled around his feet, the banner held up by sword and wand tip. Thanks to her excellent memory she actually managed a fair recreation or it and handed it proudly to the man. He took it wordlessly and examined it closely. She hoped she had not forgotten anything that would give her away.

"I'll get it for you." He disappeared into a back room leaving her to examine the other jewelry displayed in the glass case. Each piece was strikingly beautiful, intricately designed and extravagant. The one she had chosen was so simple. She worried Draco would not like it, that he would lightly toss it aside. He probably would, she reflected somewhat sadly.

Dragging steps came from the back and slowly the man approached the front counter again, this time with the ring in hand. He placed it inside a velvet covered, black box with gold writing on it and, with a single swish of his wand, it was wrapped in emerald paper and tied with a silver ribbon. He tucked a card in the ribbon and handed it over.

"Thank you, sir." Hermione offered graciously. The man nodded in response and grabbed a pipe off his counter, lit it and began to puff and he handed her the bill. She tried hard not to let her eyes widen. She was quite sure this could not be the right price. She was not even certain she had brought that much gold with her. The ring itself was only cast in silver. How could it possibly be so expensive? She could feel the man's eyes on her, waiting for her reaction. Doing the only thing she could, she handed over her entire coin purse. The man took it with another nod, but stopped in mid movement, his eyes fixed on her hand. Hermione followed his gaze to her finger where her plain engagement ring glittered in the faint light. The man slowly put down his smoking pipe and reached for her hand as if entranced.

'What could he see in such a simple golden band?' she wondered.

"May I see it?" he asked, suddenly humble. Too surprised to protest and very curious, she handed the ring over with a squeaky, "Of course."

He held it gingerly, sliding his little round glasses further down his nose as he inspected it very carefully. He scrutinized it for some time, drawn close like a moth to the flame. A few times he carefully tapped his wand to it, the result, which if any was imperceptible even to the astute Hermione, left him looking distinctly surprised. When he finished he audibly sighed, and stared at it reverently, raising it closer to the light. He looked so longingly at it in fact that it made her nervous that he would return it. She coughed softly to bring his attention back to her presence.

"Is there a problem sir?" she asked as meekly as she could, frankly puzzled. He looked at her hard, appraisingly as he handed it back.

"Young lady, do you know what this is you wear so lightly on your finger?"

"I am not learned in jewelry, I'm afraid and did not think it polite to inquire,"

"Of course not, of course not. Why I bet you assumed it was a plain gold band, didn't you?" he seemed amused, but not condescending.

"Yes sir." Hermione answered him, still perplexed.

"I assure you there is nothing plain about this piece. This piece…this piece…" He sucked his lip in apparent delight. "My dear girl," his voice lowered. "This is Orichalcum, the vanished gold of the temples of Atlantis and those of Solomon. It's been recreated often from copper and gold from high mountains, but real pieces are rare for history rumors its supplies utterly spent. Red gold: that's what they call it. It has strange powers, strange powers indeed."

He stared hungrily at the band, picking up and chewing on the end of his pipe thoughtfully.

"Are you sure?" she asked blankly. His visage darkened.

"Of course I'm sure."

"Not to insult your knowledge sir. I was only taken by surprise that I should hold something so rare."

"Aye." He agreed. "And you'll want to take great care of that."

"Yes sir. Thank you." She responded, slipping the band back on and leaving the establishment as he nodded to her. It felt strange and cold on her finger now. She just could not understand why Draco would give her something like that, especially without bragging about it first. She bargained it had something to do with its magical properties the old man had mentioned. She would have to read up on this substance. Just what strange powers did it have?

Darkness had completely covered the little town and she had to light her wand to navigate her way without falling. She hurried back to the school, slipping carefully up the hall to their tower. Opening the drawer to her desk to place the present until the next day, Hermione spotted something that made her skin crawl. Her diary. She had neglected it lately, not feeling the need to write since nothing had happened and Snape would already be reporting anything of substance in the castle. She may know a few more student interactions, but she doubted any of that would be helpful to the Order's work. Harry and Ron knew all about the D.A. and as for the horcruxes, that could not be mentioned. Out of curiosity, she opened it to the last entry and found page with no title, two names in two columns, and dozens of marks drawn in blood. In anger at herself, she tore the page, crumpled it and threw it forcefully into the fire where it withered, blackened, and ceased to be. Feeling some relief, she redirected her focus to her desk where all that was left was a crinkled manuscript at the bottom of the desk: the letter. She ignored the urge to pick it and read it, but rather stuffed it in the gift box but froze in mid-motion as it passed under the candle light and the card became clear. The name of the jeweler caught her eye. It was so familiar…where had she heard that name before? Gouge? Then it hit her. Of course, how could she be so stupid? That was the last name of Draco's former fiancée. Small world. She had bought jewelry from a relative of hers, claiming to be married to Draco nonetheless. She cringed. She also burned the card, watching the words "Gouge" curl black in the fire. Once the gift was safely hidden in her locked drawer, Hermione went to sleep.

When morning came, she rose for breakfast early and ate quickly. She wanted to arrive to Draco's wing as soon as possible. She ignored stares and whispers as she happily clutched the little box in her coat pocket.

When she entered the hospital wing, Madam Pomfrey did not object. Rather, she cleared out without a word. Draco was sitting alone in the room in a white bed, already eating breakfast. He seemed cheerful enough, for Draco. She approached with caution, expecting an outburst of hate. Finally he spotted her and stopped eating. She came closer in the way she would near a strange dog.

"Good morning Draco." She tried, breathlessly even as she tried to sound unconcerned.

"Morning." Well, that took her by surprise. "Today's my birthday." He announced happily. "Did you know that Granger?" He calmly sipped his pumpkin juice.

"I did actually."

"Did you?" he seemed mildly surprised, then shrugged it off with offhand amusement and tucked into his breakfast once more.

"Snape told me." She admitted "But I got you something." He choked on his eggs. She ignored the memories such a sound evoked.

"As in a present?" he asked.

"No, as in an evil monkey. Well, what else would I mean?" She produced the little box from her coat pocket and handed it over lightly. She could not help the hopeful look she gave him no more than he could help the odd one he gave her. He unwrapped it eagerly in an almost childlike way that made a smile tug at the corner of her mouth. She ignored it. He raised an eyebrow at the name of the jeweler on the box and she mentally cursed that he had noticed that.

Draco said nothing, but paused before lifting the lid.

"Nothing is going to leap out at me, is it Granger?"

"No." she shook her head, laughing a little in spite of herself.

When he opened the box, however, his expression greatly changed. His eyes widened in surprise and he fingered the engraved surface of his ring. He wasn't the only one who was surprised. The engraving was perfect and at first appeared to be lined with gold, but upon closer inspection, she realized that it was tiny lines of fire that had etched it, burning along the lines, swirling about almost like water. She recognized the spell at once from a book she had read at the manor. Holding the family mark, this fire would burn anyone disloyal to them member of the family that bore it. The old man had been testing her, the family crest and motto, the fire etching. Even more surprising than that, she had passed the test.

"Well, I must say," he began and her hopes lifted. "That is a much better gift than a broken jaw."

"Oh. You do remember."

"Well, no. Snape told me. It seems I was given a potion and a good deal of alcohol last night so I don't really remember much of anything; except missing dinner to look for you when Snape got angry that I had left you somewhere."

"What?"

"Pansy apparently slipped me a love potion in my firewhiskey." He said it under his breath.

"Do you honestly expect me to believe that?"

"I don't care what you choose to believe." He said simply. "I know I wasn't myself yesterday, and I don't know what happened." Hermione averted her eyes.

"I'm sorry. I did not mean to hurt you that badly."

"I know."

"You know."

"Snape told me."

"Oh. You like it then?" she ventured. He raised his eyebrows. "The ring I mean." She clarified.

"Yes actually. It's surprisingly tasteful." She only rolled her eyes, but was pleased to see him slip it on.

"Are you feeling any better?"

"Yes. Just a little hung over." He touched his head. "Pomfrey stubbornly refuses to give me anything for it. 'Shouldn't have been drunk in the first place…'" he mocked. "I'm of age today, so I don't see why it matters."

"I could whip something up for you."

"Could you?" Again, he was taken off guard.

"Of course I could. I'll be back soon." She rose and left to go brew a simple relief potion. It was the least she could do. Still, she needed to be very careful that Draco did not take advantage of her guilt though. She finished it fairly quickly but was glad it was a Saturday. Otherwise she would be missing class for this. When she brought it back to the hospital wing, concealed in her coat pocket, she heard a commotion inside and hesitated before opening the door. With a silent spell she cracked the door, for the familiarity of the raised voices inside was too tempting to resist eavesdropping.

"Ridiculous. This is not what I expected from you Draco!"

"It's my birthday. I don't want to spend it with that mudblood."

"Oh woe is you! I'm sorry to ruin your all important birthday plans with the lovely woman who poisoned you, but you have other things you have to do."

"It's not fair professor!"

"You insolent little child: life's not fair! Tell me this is not the first time you've noticed!"

"No, I know. I don't see why I can't feign sleep. My head is still killing me."

"Perhaps you should have thought about that before you got drunk last night. What's more, maybe your reflexes would have been more acute. How is your jaw?"

"Numb."

"Happy birthday. Enjoy your lunch."

"Thanks." His enthusiasm seeped through to the hallway. There Hermione frowned at his expressed opinion. What else could she expect really? He was just Malfoy after all. She cleverly slipped behind a statue of a healer.

"Good afternoon Miss Granger." Snape said anyway as he passed, eyes straight ahead. Feeling foolish, she slipped out and entered Draco's room where he was sitting up in bed, massaging his head.

"Still hurting?"

"Yes."

"Maybe you should have thought about that before you decided to get inebriated."

"You should be thankful I did drink. That's the only way you beat me in last night."

"How would you know?"

"True. You could have been motivated by intense jealousy you felt. Hell hath no fury…"

"Just drink your stupid remedy." She sighed. As she handed it to him and he took it, his sleeve slipped down over his writ and she noticed he was wearing the ring. She could not help but smile in triumph faintly, so she looked away, playing with her own ring. Again, she though of what she had learned the night before. Strange indeed. She thought about asking Draco about it when he interrupted her thoughts.

"Ah, now that's much better. You're not bad with potions Granger." That was a thank you, she supposed. "Care for some lunch?"

"I really need to head to the library." She lied.

"Are you abandoning your fiancée on his birthday?" he teased. This was Snape's doing, she was sure of it. Draco was certainly playing the part well. Then again, what were his options? His so called friends? They were so thick she doubted they remember their own birthdays, much less his. His parents? They were far too bust at home. Or, as Snape had put it, the lovely woman who poisoned him? For the first time she noticed that there were no presents stacked around his head and piled at the foot of his bed like Harry would be surrounded with when he awoke in the hospital wing. While she was certain Draco would receive the finest gift money could buy, where was the line of concerned people having madam Pomfrey pulling at her hair and ushering them out? He was alone, on his birthday nonetheless.

"Of course not," she smiled coyly. "What exciting things do you have planned for the two of us?"

"I thought," he grinned mischievously. "We might have ourselves a little date."

She raised her eyebrows critically. "A date?" she asked, skepticism plainly evident.

"Well yes. Do you plan to rush into a marriage with someone you have never so much as been on a single date with, do you? That would seem awfully rash for you Hermione Granger."

She laughed. You know, you may have a point there Malfoy. I say you do owe me a date. What sort of romantic things did you have planned?"

"Oh you know this and that," he coughed. "Surprises around every corner. The time of your life. Typical date with Draco Malfoy" He bragged, leaning back, his arms crossed behind his head.

"I see. Lunch in a hospital wing then, is it?" she asked wittily. He laughed. It was pure accident. He stopped abruptly, looking as though he startled himself and throwing her an almost wary glance. She frowned at his discomfort in a slightly amused fashion. "Does it hurt to laugh?" she asked him.

"No. The pain is gone." He said, touching his jaw lightly.

"Then why did you stop?" He did not answer. "Dangerous for your image I suppose. A Malfoy laughing? No. I dare say that would give people some awful misconceptions about them. Like that they have a sense of humor for instance."

"Excuse me? Malfoy's do have a sense of humor I'll have you know."

"That's a lie." She snorted skeptically.

"Is not!"

"Then prove me wrong."

"How should I do that? I've already laughed."

""Then laugh at yourself."

"What is there about me to be laughed at?" he said cockily. She grinned when she rolled her eyes this time, but only for a second. They glanced away awkwardly.

"I'll open the window. It's sunny out." The light afternoon breeze teased the ends of her clothing and wrapped it closer to her body. The sunlight softly lit her features in the dim room, making her skin feel radiant. She remained at the window, leaning forward on the sill and sighing. The sharp glint of something caught her eye. Her ring was reflecting the light. It's strange what little attention she had given it before it had enticed her curiosity. She looked at Draco wondering if she could ask him, but thought better of it. His eyes did not seem welcoming of questions. He was taking in her appearance; his grey eyes were shimmering and churning as they drank her in hungrily. There was no burn in them, no smoke. They shone and lapped at her in a way that made color flush her cheeks inexplicably. Clearly pleased with himself, his trademark smirk slid across his face.

A house elf entered, as if on cue. The little being carried a tray of Greek stuffed cabbage with warm, fresh pita bread. On the side were two Greek salads along with some fruit. Draco was licking his lips at the sight of some baklava for dessert. Hermione was surprised at his choice and said so.

"I had no idea you were so fond of Greek food."

"I was in a mood. You like Greek, don't you?"

"Of course." She smiled. In fact she did, but she would have said the same either way, especially with that nervous way he just asked her. The two spoke little as they ate, save the comment here and there on the food itself, savoring the taste. It was almost pleasant as they sat with the sun and cool breeze filtering in and licking the honey of baklava from their lips, at peace for perhaps the first time since they had met. Both were too ashamed of themselves to be judgmental towards of angry with the other, to full-mouthed to argue or bicker. That reflection made her realize an odd fact: the two of them, as much of their lives they had shared in some way, had never actually met. Strange.

In secret, they kept stealing glances at each other, catching the other and looking away quickly. It was most curious, she reflected. Hermione sat back in her chair and Draco slumped back into his bed when the two finished. With a hint of mischievous smile, Draco requested: "I'm bored. Read me my book."

She started in surprise and frowned at him. "Nothing wrong with your hands or eyes is there? Read it yourself."

"What?" he asked in mock astonishment. "Is Hermione Granger, the greatest bookworm Hogwarts has ever known, refusing to read a book? Come on, it's the least you can do." She felt outrage at such manipulation, but her guilt forbid her to protest. She acquiesced, seizing a book from the bedside table ferociously and throwing it open.

Her eyebrows rose in blatant shock. "What?" he inquired at her amazed expression.

"Draco this- this is Poe."

"Yes?"

"But he's- he's-"

"Too dark for you Hermione? Snape gave me the book for my birthday, said I might enjoy it."

"But he's-"

"What?"

"Nothing." She said, thinking better of it. "He's very intellectual, classic. I did not know you could, um, read."

"Very amusing, love. Are you going to read it or not?"

"Sure you lazy snot. I like Poe. What shall we read? Short story or poem?"

"Are you asking to read poetry to me Granger?" he teased with a bold wink.

"Oh yes. I have the perfect one to start with." Her voice was low and full of deception.

"Very well," he said sitting up, intrigued and arrogant expression in place. "What is it?"

With a dark smile curling her lips, she dove into the book, barely bothering to look at the words as she could recite it all from memory…'Once upon a midnight dreary, as I pondered, weak and weary…'"

The rhythmic tones and delightful rhyme lulled him at first, but she told it as a story, pausing in the right places and leaving him in suspense, she reveled watching his posture and expression change to one of intrigue. She changed her voice as well, matching the mood of the poem bit by bit. Impassioned by the end, she read with both the anguish of the speaker and the triumph she felt at watching Draco leaning forward so eagerly.

"And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting  
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;  
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,  
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;  
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor  
Shall be lifted - nevermore!"

His final response was a simple: "Well." She continued, reading "The Bells," then "The Caste of Amontillado". He ate it up like it was the sappy, golden honey of the baklava, licking his lips as she read, sitting on the edge of his seat as the color gradually reappeared in his face. He especially enjoyed the "Masque of the Red Death."

"…And the life of the ebony clock went out with that of the last of the gay. And the flames of the tripods expired. And Darkness and Decay and the Red Death held illimitable dominion over all."

"Bloody hell." He concluded.

When she sipped some cider to wet her tired throat, "Keep going," he said. She smiled and complied. She could not help herself. The words were delicious and the irony of Draco falling in love with the writing of a muggle was to entertaining to stop. This was a first. The two had something in common: they both enjoyed Poe. It was odd to look at him then, as if she were seeing him for the first time. It was not unlike the Draco that watched the storms. Some mystery about him had unraveled, and she could relax in her element, reading tantalizing mystery and horror Poe so elegantly crafted.

The sun was setting as the first clap of thunder hit, spookily enough, at the same time as the thudding from below in "The Fall of the House of Usher". It made both of them jump and then laugh nervously at their foolishness. She paused in her reading and rose to close the window against the autumn wind. It was really blowing in by then, giving her chills. Wordlessly, Draco threw her a blanket, or rather threw one at her chair. She was touched by the gesture of simple hospitality towards her, but said nothing to indicate she had noticed. Best not to make things awkward again, she figured. After all, this had been the first time the two had been together more than tolerating each others company.

Meanwhile, the parlor where the narrator of Poe's story and the brother Roderick were reading was also darkening, just as the hospital wing was, from a mix of approaching night and storm clouds. Just when the parlor swung open to reveal the buried girl, Lady Madeline, hands dripping with blood, the door of the hospital wing swung open to reveal the torch lit face of madam Pomfrey. Again, they leapt, but this time not laughter followed, as Madam Pomfrey's face allowed no such frivolity. She rushed in huffing and immediately began to shepherd them out of the door.

"Go, go! You two must be out of here quickly."

"But madam Pomfrey I-" Draco began to protest.

"You are fine, mister Malfoy, I assure you. Now clear out the two of you."

Hermione, closing the book, stood obediently though ruffled by the healer's sudden rudeness. Something was amiss. She could sense it. The nurse kept glancing over her shoulder and she was practically dragging Draco out of the bed. As she did so, his sleeping robes slid high up his leg revealing his lean, muscular thigh, making Hermione turn her head to avoid embarrassment. She snorted at Draco's pink face and he scowled at her, but it lacked maliciousness and she could tell he wanted to laugh too. That is until the doors swung open again, this time to expose the massive dark figure of Hagrid carrying a body. Madam Pomfrey gasped and pushed then towards the door.

"Bring him over here Hagrid." She indicated the bed next to the one where Draco had been resting. Curiously Draco asked her: "What's happened?"

She looked at him, apparently shocked they were still there. "Out!" she hissed and they scuttled out, but not before catching site of the limp body Hagrid held in his arms. It was Hermione's turn to gasp and she turned back before Draco grabbed her hand and pulled her out the door.

"That was Neville!" she snapped at him, voice cracking already.

"I know, but there are better ways to find out what happened."

"But I want to help him!"

"What could you do Madam Pomfrey could not? You'd only be in the way. Come on. Get some sleep and you can be here when he wakes up in the morning."

His consideration froze her and she followed his lead away from the hospital wing, conceding the point at least.

"How do you plan to find out what happened?"

"I'll talk to Snape in the morning. Tell him we need to know. It's Longbottom we're talking about. I'm sure he did something daft and got himself hurt as usual."

"But the woods have been really dangerous recently! We aren't allowed outside after dark anymore."

"He did not look particularly bloody or petrified. He was breathing."

"How comforting."

"It's good to see you care more about that nitwit than you own fiancée." He snapped.

"How could you say that? Neville is my friend I'm just as concerned as- hang on. Are you jealous?"

"Jealous? Me?" he rolled his eyes nonchalantly.

"You are. You're jealous!" her panic suddenly receded to make room for bemusement.

He looked at her, trying to appear fierce, but snorted and shook his head. She could not help but laugh too at his odd behavior. She mentally congratulated herself on the idea of slipping him some cheering potion. That was one of her more brilliant ideas, if she did say so herself.

They moved on in silence. As time went by, she sighed sad as her worry increased for Neville, lying somewhere in the hospital wing. Draco was beginning to feel awkward and out of place, his body language showed it. She should be worrying about him, she concluded, and consequently redirected her attention. She handed him his present from Snape.

He frowned. "But we haven't finished it."

She wanted to smile, in spite of everything. "Okay." She pocketed it. With a sly smile she added as an after thought. "No worries. I won't tell by the way."

"Tell what?" he asked rudely.

"That you cannot read. That's why you want to me to finish this with you." She smirked at him, trying her best to mirror his infamous one. He just shook his head, the corners of his mouth revealing that he was at least somewhat amused at her jibe.

"Maybe I just enjoy making you do whatever I want." His voice was low and dangerous. This time she did not take the bait. Instead she quieted and looked down. In the fresh silence she noticed her stomach growl as they approached the stair case where they were to ascend to their beds, but Hermione headed in the opposite direction.

"Where are you going?" Draco asked her.

"I'm hungry." She sheepishly admitted.

He laughed at her, pleased with her mild embarrassment. "Well then where shall we eat? Dinner in the great hall is over."

"Why in the kitchens, of course."

"Miss Granger!" he exclaimed mockingly. "Are you intending to sneak?"

"You'll find Draco," she said coyly, "that I can be very sneaky when I wish to be."

"Her real colors begin to show. I knew you were trouble."

He followed her towards the kitchens and looked at her queerly as she came to a halt before the picture of fruit. She then tickled the pear, causing Draco to snort and look at her as if she were mad.

"What? Don't tell me you've never tickled a pear before?"

Critically, he raised an eyebrow. "No. Not a pear.." Again she chose to ignore the innuendo. Once the door swung open, house elves rushed to greet them. While Dobby was especially fond towards Hermione, the other elves seemed disturbingly partial to the commanding Draco. She shot him a jealous look at one point which he found most amusing. Surprisingly though he was not indecent to them. Dinner was more of a buffet of treats and some chamomile tea Hermione desperately needed to calm her nerves.

Eventually, they made their way out, barely escaping the clutches of the merry, pie-carrying little beings. Both were tired and did not speak much on the way to bed.

Only Draco spoke on the way back to the dormitories. Practically giddy from his wine, he made it difficult to sneak through the halls without detection. "Thank God Crabbe and Goyle never found that entrance."

"Even if they did, I doubt they would be clever enough to get in," she quipped. He sniggered in response, but stopped abruptly as a loud screech erupted in the hallway. He had trod on Mrs. Norris' tail.

"Oh hell!" Hermione swore, frustrated. Draco wanted to laugh at her, but didn't as he was too busy running. The two managed to avoid discovery and arrived triumphant, but breathless in their room. They dressed in silence, Draco opening the window to let the sound of threatening thunder in along with the cold breeze. Hermione grabbed an extra blanket for her bed when he did so. Before she could climb into bed, Draco stopped her with a hand on her elbow, startling her.

"We're not finished."

He had frightened her. She had expected an attack once the mood lifting potion wore off.

"Finished what?" she asked daftly, swallowing hard as she realized her wand was already placed on her bedside table.

"The story. We've got to finish it."

"Well," she smiled in her best attempt at seductively. "I guess we'll have to finish it on our date."

"Our _**what**__?"_

"You owe me a date, remember? And I always collect my debts." He raised an eyebrow and released her. She translated it as them having an accord. She was trying to d her job by spending more civil time with him, or so she told herself. The truth was it was curiosity gnawing at her again. She had glimpsed the real Draco today, and she wondered what else she could uncover.

She turned to climb into bed, but stopped short of drawing her curtains.

"Draco?" he stopped in mid-motion of removing his shirt. "It was strangely nice to meet you."

He frowned at her oddly then smirked. Pulling his shirt off to see her cheeks faintly pink, he agreed cockily: "Yeah. Almost a pleasure."


	18. Its Greatest Fury

**disclaimer:** You know the drill. I don't own it.

**Stolen**

_**A/N:**__Yay- another long chapter! Thanks, as always, for reviews. You don't know how much they inspire me! Please keep them coming. We are about half way through Part II now, and I am so excited I have prewritten the next few chapters. The more reviews, the faster I will up-date. Thanks for reading and enjoy this _different_ chapter._

**Chapter 18:** It's Greatest Fury

The following morning Hermione awoke in her bed, very early for a Sunday, trembling. She rose with her blankets wrapped around her to close the window because of the cold. Once she reached said window she cried out in surprise to see snow falling on the Hogwarts grounds. The flakes were the lightest and largest Hermione had ever seen, she reflected, as she watched them waft down from the grey sky. It was the first snow of the season. Another rare smile found its way across her sleepy visage. She had always loved snow. Any other time she would have roused Harry and Ron, but as that was no longer an option she had to tell someone. Anyone.

"Draco." She called him in an excited nearly childlike manner that got what could be had of his attention. He grunted sleepily from behind his curtains. Now feeling just a bit more comfortable with him, she went to his bed and threw the curtains back. He groaned and hid from the faint light dramatically like a vampire in a cheesy muggle film. She almost laughed at his melodramatic behavior. Absurd.

"The lights are not even lit yet." She told him. "Look! It's snowing." She returned to the open window and was followed by his voice inquiring 'Snowing?', several thuds that meant he had gotten out of bed, and the patter of his bare feet making his way to the window to stand behind her. She did not look at him, but knew he was there as she could hear his breathing not far from her. The flakes had begun to lightly cover the landscape like frosting as they began to stick. Looking up, she blinked into the celestial view, marveling at the resemblance the grey snow clouds had to the color of Draco's eyes.

"What are you thinking?" he asked. She must have that strange, revealing look on her face she sometimes got, the one that made her friends ask the same thing.

"I won't tell you." She replied coyly as she remained looking out the window, a sly smile tugging at her lips.

"And why not? As partners we are supposed to share secrets not keep them." He tried.

"Oh it's no secret. I dare not tell you because it will go straight to your head, it will get even bigger than it already is, and I'll never hear the end of it."

"Now you have to tell me." He declared.

She smiled to herself. She had roused his curiosity, but to appease it? 'What the hell?' she thought. 'It might be funny.'



"I was just thinking," she told him bashfully, glancing down though she still had not faced him. "When you are laughing your eyes are the same color as these clouds." She blushed furiously right after the words escaped her, but, as her face was turned, he wouldn't know that. She smiled again, mischievously.

There was a moment of silence. That had shocked him even more than she had intended to. He was speechless. It was a nice change. For a moment her blush faded away and she felt a surge of triumph.

Then, he approached her from behind causing her to bite her lip nervously. As he leaned in intimately, his close proximity made her so uncomfortable she had to finally turn and face him. Also clad in his pajamas and bed covers, he stood before her looking taller than she remembered. He smiled like fox.

"Can't even pay me a simple compliment without blushing?" he mocked her. Embarrassed, the comment stung.

"Ooh," she fumed, turning away from him and the view that she had been admiring to go get dressed. His bark of laughter followed her, making her face darken. She kept it turned from him as he remained at the window while she readied. More then once she caught him in the corner of her eye sniggering to himself.

Quite suddenly, she felt it was time to see Harry and Ron again. It was Sunday after all. No one would notice her disappearance for a few hours. Draco would almost certainly be going to Hogsmeade. Maybe she could lose him there.

"I said: where are you going?" Draco asked her, suddenly very close again. She must have been distracted in thought and not noticed him approach. "I'm going to Hogsmeade. I need to fetch a few things."

"Didn't you get everything you needed night before last?"

"No," she answered shortly.

"I'll go with you then." He announced and went directly to change. She sighed in disappointment. Of course he would join her. He had to ruin her day. She could not blame him entirely though. They were supposed to be sticking together to avoid detection, but how then was she supposed to discuss the letter with Harry and Ron?

"Okay." She did not want to expose her disappointment. She had to get closer to Draco if she wanted a chance at getting her hands on that book again. Besides, Draco had been bearably ever since she attacked him. She wondered if the boys had found anything in the Chamber. First though, she remembered she needed to find out what happened to Neville. At the memory of her 

friend and the way he had worked last night her stomach dropped a little. What had happened to Neville?

"Neville!"

Draco jumped at her sudden outburst just as he was pulling his shirt over his head. "What? Where?"

"I've got to go see Neville."

"Now?" he asked.

"Yes. You did say first thing in the morning. Are you coming with me or not?"

"No!"

"Well, then I guess you're not going with me to Hogsmeade either as I'm leaving right afterwards."

He groaned. "Why don't you go to Hogsmeade first before it gets crowded with all those stupid third years?" he proposed.

"You used to be one of those stupid third years, remember?" she reminded him.

"Well, I don't know about stupid…" She rolled her eyes at him.

"I said I was going first thing in the morning and I am. It was your idea in the first place. You never should have suggested it then."

"Well, I didn't count on me going. Maybe we could just meet in Hogsmeade."

"Yes, because that's what all the lovey-dovey teenagers do, go separately and meet up later. This is a perfect chance to publicize this a little, really get the image of us together out there. We should have lunch."

"We could go to Hogsmeade first and you could get Neville a get well soon gift. Besides, he's probably not even up yet."

"You just want to get out of going to see him."

"Well, why would I want to see him? I don't like seeing him when he's well, why would I want to play nice with him while he's the hospital bed-" she threw a pillow at him. It was well aimed for once and hit him in the face, stopping him from speaking for a moment. He laughed in half surprise.

"It would give you a trusting honorable image. We could tell the Order you're a reformed man, fallen madly in love and all."



"Ahh," said Draco with mock pride. "Now you're thinking deceptively." She rolled her eyes at him again and began making her bed. As she stretched over to pull the sheets tight she felt and heard a sudden light slap on her extended behind. She turned red in indignation, whirling around to face a madly chuckling Draco who had stepped back in anticipation of her reaction.

"Just playing, love." He defended, looking unnerved by the wild, savage look that had suddenly come over the normally cool-headed Hermione. She very much wanted to slap him hard right across his face and that much was evident in her glare. She thought better of it though and slapped his wrist like a naughty child, causing him to wince at the unanticipated sting.

"Not like that you're not." She informed him sharply. "I see no audience to perform for."

"Yeah, but you should have seen the look on your face!" she fumed and he stopped laughing. "Get a sense of humor Granger, geez."

She went back to making her bed. Meanwhile, he leaned against the bed post and spoke. "So, we'll compromise. We go to Hogsmeade first, get Longbottom a get well gift, eat, have ourselves a good snog in the public eye, and hold hands and all that hippogriff dung. Then, we will both come back here and both go see Neville in the hospital wing. What do you say?" he asked, extending a hand with an air of false seductiveness.

She took it and allowed him to kiss her hand without starting in surprise. He looked pleased with himself so she moved away.

Holding hands was really an awkward custom, Hermione concluded half an hour later as they strolled down the frosty streets of Hogsmeade, accompanied by odd stares. It would have been worse if they had not had on gloves (sweating and what not), but even with them on it was an uncomfortable a practice as the looks she was receiving from some of her former, fellow Gryffindors. One of them was Ginny, who looked upon spotting them as if she suddenly felt ill and disappeared into a shop immediately.

"You should be happy you're with me." Draco mentioned. "If not you wouldn't be allowed to visit Hogsmeade this year, being a muggle-born and all."

"It's for their own protection from rogue dementors or Death Eater attacks." She informed him.

"Right. The same reason they can't participate in dueling clubs? Rubbish. They are taking away their privileges one by one. Have you seen or heard of any of these attacks?"

"What about Neville?"

"Longbottom probably fell down the stairs." Draco scoffed. Hermione was not so sure. Madam Pomfrey had seemed too worried. She did not share her thoughts on this with Draco though. Someone may overhear.



The couple, for lack of a better word, made their way down the streets with hands reluctantly clenched together and tight smiles stretched across their faces. Finally, they decided to enter a small cafe for brunch and to shop for something for Neville once they were no longer hungry. The bell tinkled very lightly and Hermione was reminded of the poem she had read to Draco, "The Bells". Crystalline delight.

The woman behind the counter was wearing far too much pink for Hermione liking and she was beaming far more than necessary upon spotting them. The hostess emerged, greeting them warmly, and ushered them to a table. Linda, as she introduced herself, then proceeded to offer them half the menu, eventually agreeing to bring them tea along with some fresh, blueberry scones.

"Just tea, thank you." Hermione had specified patiently as Draco rolled his eyes in annoyance. The scones had been the woman's idea and she had insisted incessantly. To get rid of her, Draco agreed to try them.

"Good grief." He said, removing his scarf and dusting the snow from it. "I thought she would never leave."

"I know," said Hermione under her breath. "And did you notice what she was wearing?"

"How could I not? That thing was hideous! What is she trying to look like? A crochet blanket?" Hermione snorted, but hastily played it off as sneeze as the woman returned.

"Thank you." They both politely offered, refusing several times anything else.

"My she was insistent! Do you think she was trying to poison us?"

"I don't know." He stopped with the scone half way to his mouth. "You should try it first, just in case."

"Oh how chivalrous of you." She said smartly. He held it out for her to take a bite and she accepted bravely, nibbling the end. There was a reason for her sudden willingness to face possibly tainted food. She had a bezoar in her pocket which would serve as an antidote to most poisons. She had been carrying it since school began. Besides, what were the chances of some random café owner trying to poison them? Draco's eyebrows revealed he was impressed even if his smirk tired to cover it up.

The pastry was delicious she had to admit; warm, sweet, and flaky. "It's good." She said, wiping her mouth politely of crumbs. In doing so she eyed the hostess woman ahead, over Draco's shoulder, at the counter. She had a sickly sweet smile on her face as she watched them. Sighing wistfully, the woman retreated into the back of her café. Hermione gulped and looked away.

"Great." She said under her breath to Draco who was now trying his own scone. "She thinks you were feeding me." He snorted.



"Well, that is what we were going for wasn't it?" They both smiled. Joyless smiles. Ironic smiles.

Neither of them spoke as they sipped their tea and ate. It was early for conversation. Still, Hermione could not help but feeling the silent pair of them hardly looked like lovers. Once the food had vanished and they were on their third cup of tea she really began to feel restless. Why were they still there in that stupid love bird café? Draco kept watching the door behind her, as if expecting something to happen. What on earth were they waiting for?

"It certainly is cold outside. Winter came quickly." Hermione finally commented to break the silence, not noticing the figure that made the bell tinkle as they opened the door, inviting in the very wind she spoke of.

Draco leaned forward, that insufferable debonair smile plastered on his face.

"What?" she said, recognizing it as his performance facade though puzzled as to its reason for appearance.

"Come here." He said quietly. "Lean forward." He tilted his head to her.

Brow furrowed, she leaned forward and his hand touched her face, ever-so-lightly. Her lips, frozen from the cold, came in contact with his long fingers as they glided over, tickling her slightly and causing her to smile in spite of herself. The way they were positioned to reach across the table made them face one another, eyes angled to stare at each other lovingly. As neither could manage this, she shut her eyes to keep from bursting into ridiculous laughter.

She opened her eyes in shock, however, when she felt his lips pressed briefly against hers, though partly covered by his fingers. Now facing a mirror placed somewhere behind the counter she could see what he had spied to launch his performance. She quickly shut her eyes again and tried very hard to appear to be enjoying herself. That deplorable Skeeter woman had appeared in the café and was just itching to snap a photograph. She did so swiftly, giving the two a reason to pull apart, their faces struck with false astonishment as they turned to her. Hermione managed a half glare before turning arrogantly around in her most Malfoy-like manner.

The infamous Rita Skeeter made her way over to their table and inside Hermione burned with anger at this despicable woman. Outside, however, she smiled repulsively sweet and took Draco's hand in hers on the top of the table. He flinched only a minute amount at the contact, only she would notice. She winked at him with a sly smile, savoring his discomfort for a change. He returned her gaze, thrilled with their newest game: deception. Rita froze and her photographer snapped another picture at her request.

Just as they had hoped, she approached. "Oh! And how is the lovely couple? Beaming? Resigned? Trying to make the best of a bad situation or was it fate intervened to save forbidden love?" she practically bubbled.



"We're fine thank you." Draco answered smoothly for the both of them. "I'm just enjoying a little brunch with my lovely wife-to-be." Here he brushed her knuckles with a light kiss, stressing the word lovely with nauseating emphasis. She only just allowed herself to blush.

"So would you say then that this arrangement of marriage, which people were at first calling the minister's latest 'fiasco', has actually worked out well for the two of you?" She was fishing for support of the ministry. Her all too obvious goals was to spread propaganda for the minister's campaign all across the covers of The Daily Prophet, using them as the poster couple. Hermione sensed it immediately, but she also sensed the chance for Malfoy's family to earn greater standing with the minister of magic. When it came to matters of diplomacy at least, she and Draco appeared to be on the same page. Now they could have a little fun with this. She had to admit, it was nice not to have to translate for Harry and Ron for once.

"In some ways it can definitely be seen as beneficial." Merlin's beard! He sounded like a politician. "You see, the two of us are practically polar opposites, of course at first we at each others throats," he paused here, his eyes flashing at her covered with a slight smile. For some unknown reason, she felt fiery at once at this statement, but concealed it with a smile. "But now, we can barely keep our eyes off each other." She wanted to laugh. Actually really laugh. It was funny because in a way it was true. At first they had tried to kill one another, and now they were so worried the other would screw up they watched them like a falcon hunting its prey.

"I see." Skeeter scribbled something down. "Has it had an effect on your school work?"

"Yes," he answered quickly, "a positive one. We're both excellent students and now we have the opportunity to learn from each other. Just ask our professors how we are doing. I'm sure they'll be glad to tell you." Strange as it was, that was somewhat true as well.

"What about you Miss Granger? How do you really feel about your engagement Mr. Malfoy?"

She had to think very carefully about this one. She had to be extremely choosing of her words. A tightening of his grip on her hand meant that Draco was urging her to do the same.

"He is everything I could have expected and more." That was true too. He certainly was as arrogant and irritating as she had expected, but there was more there as well. After all, he wasn't a complete idiot, was he?

"I see. How wonderful," she said, though it was clear she did not find it wonderful at all. "Are you at all hurt by your friends' abandonment of you?"

Hermione wanted to protest that her friends had not abandoned her, but her mind closed her mouth with a snap. Quickly, she recovered.

"True friends do not abandon you."



"Too right you are." Skeeter agreed, more pleased, it seemed, with that comment. "And what of the boy-who-lived? What is your personal opinion on his flagrant disengagement with the ministry and opposition to its stands, rulings, and policy?"

This was a loaded question. She hated these.

"Harry Potter's political opinions are hardly my concern."

"If that's all Ms. Skeeter, I'd fancy a walk with my betrothed." Draco stood and Hermione happily followed his move.

"One last question: do you think, since you see it as unlikely that the two of you be paired before now, that this may be an act of fate bringing you together?"

"I think it's more an act of government policy, but let's not mince words." He smartly replied, cool and collected as ever, placing money on the table and standing to go.

"And the effect this has on muggle-born pureblood relations?" she burst out hastily. "Do you feel it has been successful in your case? Your family, mister Malfoy, has been known for his unsavory attitude towards those of impure blood."

Now, to finish her off; Hermione offered: "The muggle-born author of the Once and Future King, T.H. White, once wrote that 'Love can exist with hatred, each preying on the other, and this gives it its greatest fury.'"

Touché. That shut her up. Draco gentlemanly put her coat on for her and admiring wrapped her scarf around her as she spoke. It was a nice touch on his part, she acknowledged. She could see him al the while though trying not to dissolve into peals of laughter at her comment. The two then all but raced, hand in hand once again, out the door. Once they turned the corner into an alley, they both doubled over, grabbing their sides in the best round of laughter either had had in months.

Gasping, they rapidly exhaled the words of their victory.

"At each others throats-!" she laughed. "Literarily!"

"Everything you expected and more!" he shouted. "And to top it all off-" He wheezed, "that quote! Love and hate and fury and all that tosh, that was bloody brilliant. Did you make that up?"

"No!" she laughed. "It just popped into my head from no where. Nice touch with my coat and scarf."

"I was trying not to laugh." He admitted, wiping his eyes.

"I know." She giggled. He snorted and began laughing again. "We were pretty genius." She admitted. "Really Draco?" she batted her eyelashes at him exaggeratedly. "Was I- _brilliant?"_



He stopped laugh. Smirk in place he asked her, "I don't know Granger. That depends."

"On what?"

"Do my eyes remind you of the clouds above us?" he mocked her again, chortling. This time she stopped laughing, but her smile was still peeking through. The jest was no worse then any of her friends would have gladly offered. She punched his arm, almost playfully. The two moved on before these small measures of camaraderie made things grow awkward between them again. This time they locked arms which served as a little protection from the fresh cold that surrounded them and was far less awkward than holding hands. She ignored the glances she caught him giving her as he ignored her thoughtful silence.

"So all this snow makes me wonder," he began.

"Yes?" she asked him.

"What are you going to get me for Christmas?"

"You just had a birthday you spoiled brat." She teased him. This time, he recognized her tone as a joking one and took no offense.

"Yes, but I'm curious. I want to give you plenty of time to get me something really good."

"Well, what are you going to get for me?" she asked.

"It's a surprise." He tried. She laughed at him.

"You have no idea what I'd want, do you?"

"The same thing all other girls want: something pretty and expensive."

"Draco, Draco," she shook her head. "Haven't you learned anything about me?"

"I've got it! A book."

"Perhaps." She said thoughtfully. "Perhaps." She wondered that if she could really stump Draco if he might let her look at the Casus Malfoy book for Christmas. It was worth a try. She would have to ask later, of course. "First let's figure out what we're getting Neville."

"We?"

"I just made your family look saintly for them, now we have to make you look kindhearted and reformed for the Order."

"I see." He sounded grim. "Come one. We'll do a little early Christmas shopping while we look. That will make it more enjoyable for us both."



"Might as well." He consented.

The town stores knew Hogwarts students to do a great amount of their Christmas shopping there and were wisely already preparing for the holiday. The mood was already set in many of the places they went, warm cider being offered and holiday colors being put up in windows. It cast a merry light on the usual gloomy couple sentenced to an outing together. It was a pleasant surprise to find Draco enjoyed clothes shopping as much as she did, and it was quite a great change from the usual trip with Harry and Ron as well. Perhaps there were benefits to be had from his vanity.

Together they picked robes for his family's large, traditional Christmas supper at the manor. Hermione, upon Draco's insistence, actually agreed to wear red. She only agreed because it didn't make her look like a 'scarlet woman'. It was long, though it had a lengthy slit, and was made of velvet, a traditional style with a touch of Gothic in the sleeves. It fit her well and was not too revealing in the cleavage department, although Draco had observed rudely, yet jokingly, that he had no idea until she tried it on that she even had breasts. She had scowled and agreed to buy it mostly to prove him wrong and because that meant she could have a say in choosing his robes. He also insisted on purchasing the dress for her, whether because he was truly a gentleman or because he was playing one she could not tell. Either way she was appreciative and made sure he knew it after politely protesting. He seemed a bit embarrassed by this and moved on quickly to pick out his robes.

"We will not be gaudy and were red and green, just to inform you." He clarified straight away.

"Would it be embarrassing if we matched? If you had the same red touch to you tuxedo style robes?"

"Tuxedo?" he asked.

"Like this." She announced pulling one from the rack not unlike Harry's robes in third year. "I'll ask if they have anything."

"Does this resemble what you are after Sir?" the woman assisting them asked after a moment, taking a very nice looking suit, mostly black and satin by the looks of it, from the display window. It looked very expensive, but not too flashy at all. Indeed, the red matched hers to an exact hue. She smiled. Her looked at her and smiled back oddly at her easy to please nature. Then, he caught himself. He redirected his attention to the service woman, leaving Hermione looking confused.

"Can I be fitted for it?" he asked her.

"Certainly, but perhaps you should try it on first. Looks like it would be a good fit." How to explain to this woman his family had all their suits tailored? Hermione sent him a look that insinuated his family would never know the difference.



"Fine." He agreed, retreating to the back changing rooms. A few long moments later he emerged, pulling at the bottom and fidgeting with the sleeves. She could not seem to keep her eyebrows where they ought to be.

"what? There is no blasted mirror in there! How does it look?" he snapped. She walked up to him, took him by the shoulders and turned him to face the mirrors. He grinned widely and stood admiring himself for some time. She rolled her eyes. He turned back to her.

"What do you think?"

"You look terrible!" she exclaimed seriously, and his face fell a little. "Just kidding, it's dashing." She gave him a grin. The service woman seemed to think so too, so Hermione wrapped her arms around his shoulders from behind and even dared to rest her chin there for a moment. She was as impressed with herself as Draco was with himself. To someone who had never seen them and knew nothing about them they might pass for a loving couple. They might actually believe that she enjoyed the feeling of her arms around his broad shoulders covered in his satiny suit, or that he enjoyed the smell of her hair so close to him. They did not of course. That would be inappropriate and weird. She couldn't say it felt particularly disgusting though. He turned and half looked at her questioningly and she stared at the mirror in response, indicating the sales clerk watching them closely. He nodded and straightened up. Only then did she realize that he had leaned into her touch. He really could be a good actor when he wanted to.

He paid for the suit and they left. Outside, she leaned over to say in his ear, "I think I'll drop in the bookstore. You don't have to come."

"Alright, I have to make a stop anyway. Want to meet back up for lunch in an hour or so?"

"Sure. The Three Broomsticks?"

"Yes, I don't think I could stomach that ungodly pink woman again." She laughed and nodded in agreement, then departed. She had quite a lot of work to do and little time in which to do it.

First she was off to the bookstore as she said, but then also to the magical beast emporium, the post office, and the apothecary. Then she was dashing off to the Three Broomsticks. She entered out of breath and spied her friends. They smiled and, whipping of her scarf, she nearly came over to them before she spotted Draco out of the corner of her eye and went over to him, not allowing the smile she had held for her friends to fall from her face.

Draco was brooding over a mug of butterbeer. Brooding. "Rough day?" she asked cautiously as she sat down across from him.

"Let's just order, shall we?" She tried very hard not to glance over at her friends.

"Alright." She agreed. "Let's." she sighed happily, or attempted to, and took a menu. "What looks good today?"



"Nothing as usual." was his sour reply.

"Look," she said, putting her menu down testily. "I don't know what crawled up your arse and died there in the last hour, but whatever it is please go to the bathroom and pull it out so we can have a nice pleasant lunch. I for one was having a highly tolerable day with you for a change and I'd rather you didn't ruin it. I am trying not to make you miserable, you know? The least you can do is return the favor, at least fake pleasantness. Now, what shall we order?" she asked, friendly again, picking back up her menu. A shocked looking Draco snorted with laughter.

"What?" she asked.

"Crawled up you arse and died there? Really Granger, when did you get a sense of humor? You go out and buy one."

She gave him a half smile and ordered lamb and potatoes. It was reasonably good and the two, as usual, devoured most of their meals in silence.

"You friends took it upon themselves to threaten me today."

"That's their way of being noble."

"How can you just excuse their behavior like that?" he said, disgusted.

"The same way you excuse your family's I suppose." She retorted calmly.

"Fair point." He tilted his head in acknowledgement. He enjoyed arguing far too much. "Are you finished?" he asked, putting down his napkin.

"Yes.' She answered, eager to get out of there.

"Good. I have one place left I want to go."

"Alone?"

"No," he smirked, but it was a light-hearted one she had come to distinguish. "I want to show it to you."

She could not help herself. She was intrigued and she followed like a lamb to the slaughter, casting a pitiful look back at her plate.

The place they arrived at about twenty minutes later was none other than in the infamous shrieking shack of which Hermione knew more than the legend. If his intention was an entertaining fright he was out of luck. She was well aware the real purpose of the most haunted dwelling in Britain was to serve as a clandestine location for Remus Lupin's transformation into a werewolf as a boy. She could never tell that to Draco of course.



"The shrieking Shack," he introduced. "The most haunted dwell in all of Great Britain. The wizard that lived here, hacked up his entire family one night. They say they could hear their screams from the village, but no one could get through the snow in time to help. By the time they got there, everyone had vanished, but there was blood everywhere."

"That's horrible. Why did he do it?"

"No one knows." He told her, looking serious. "Spooky, isn't it?" he asked, wagging his eyebrows and looking pleased.

"Tragic." She responded. That dampened his spirits.

"Want to check it out?"

"No!" exclaimed Hermione too quickly.

"Whoa, Granger. I thought you were in Gryffindor. Aren't you supposed to have the heart of a lion and all that?" he scoffed.

"I just don't think its very respectful is all. I mean, they died in there didn't they? You wouldn't want people trampling all over the ground-" She stopped, remembering his ancestor. For only a second, a dark look passed over his features.

"I guess not. But you sure know how to ruin a good time."

"Fine, let's go in." She said, passing him by and heading towards the house.

"What?" she smiled to herself to hear the alarm rise in his voice. He was only teasing. The coward had no intention of entering I in the first place, he only wanted to jest her. "I should be willing to try to do what you want I suppose since you were tolerable at dinner, so let's go in and see what all the fuss is about. Probably just a lot of nonsense," she chattered as she headed down the drive to the house. After a few moments of uninterrupted chatter, she stopped and turned to see where he was. He had not moved from his spot and was looking rather pale and motionless. She fought the urge to laugh. "Aren't you coming?"

"Well, on second thought, it looks dilapidated. We should probably steer clear just to be safe. We can't have you falling through any rotten floors can we?" he laughed weekly and waved for her to come back.

"Are you sure?" she asked turning to look at the house. "I really don't mind Draco."

"Yes! I mean, yes of course I'm sure. Come on, let's go visit Longbottom in the hospital wing before he's out." Wow he was really getting desperate.

"Okay." She sighed grinning to herself. He grabbed her wrist when she crossed the line where the gate used to be, pulling her up the hill towards him. Once she was there he pulled her close 

and walked on, mumbling audibly to himself like Kreacher. "What were you thinking…could have died…probably saved you life…complete nutter…"

After they walked a while through the woods, he spoke again. "I've been in there you know?"

"Oh really?" she asked skeptically.

He nodded. "In first year."

"You didn't say that earlier."

"Well, it wasn't exactly a happy experience. The older kids, they locked me in there in an initiation sort of ritual. I passed though. Scared the bloody hell out of me to be honest."

She laughed with him, making light of it. "As long as we're being honest, I've been in there too."

"You have?"

"Yes. My circumstances were a bit different." She had been over it a hundred times in her head. She was sure she could tell him. He already knew Lupin was a werewolf, already Lupin and Black were friends, and that a Sirius was Harry's godfather. He must have known all along that Sirius wasn't a Death Eater and it must be obvious about Scabbers, or Pettigrew. So she told him the whole exciting tale.

"Pettigrew faked his own death and blamed Black? Makes sense now. And I always thought he was so daft."

"He's a terrible coward!" Hermione cried in indignation.

"Yes, but it was clever you have to admit."

"So you actually saw him transform?"

"Yes?"

"What was it like?"

"Frightening." She admitted.

"And Potter really fought of all those dementors?" he asked. She had not elaborated on the time turner.

"Well, yes." He said nothing.

"Do you love him?" he asked abruptly.



"Harry? Well, yes of course as a friend."

"Oh. Then its Weasley you're in love with then?" he asked bitterly.

"I am not in love with Ronald Weasley. He's just a friend."

"Does he know that?" She blushed but did not answer. "Have you ever had boyfriend, Granger?"

"Well, yes. Vik-" she couldn't finish that sentence. Viktor. Her friend. The handsome young Bulgarian who had liked to watch her study. He was gone. Her eyes well with tears.

"What's the matter with you?" Draco's voice was a collage of pity, disgust, concern, and panic. He seemed unable to handle a crying fiancée. He took her by the shoulers. She wiped her eyes and looked away.

"Nothing." She told him.

"Krum?" he asked her plainly. She nodded. She felt like an idiot, but she could not help it. "I'm sorry," he sighed.

She looked up at him, angry. "You knew?"

"I know. Father wrote to me. I don't know why, only that he was executed for treason against the Dark Lord. There is no walking away from him, Hermione." Draco looked into her eyes, willing her to see something she could not. She lowered her head, tears spilling over. They did not embrace. He did not cradle her lovingly and whisper meaningless words of comfort in her ear. She simply leaned on him, pressing her forehead to his chest. His gloved hand rested lightly on her shoulders. They only thing the two shared was the air as they breathed together quietly for a while. He let her grieve and ignored her tears so she would not feel ashamed and somehow it made it all a lot easier in a way that made no sense. He allowed his body to hold up her own with an appropriate distance in between so that there was no awkward pulling away once she recovered. It seemed to be the only thing he could think to do with her. Yet somehow it was intimate. His silence made her feel as though she could not hear her and she wept openly. He waited patiently, understandingly while giving her space. That was all she could expect of him she supposed. As it turned out, that was all she really needed. She pulled herself up to full height and let the cold wind dry her cheeks. Taking deep breaths, she began walking the direction they had been headed earlier. He walked on beside her and made no comment about it. At all. No weird apology, no joke, nothing. She appreciated it and let him no in a sniffling smile. He returned in it with his own uncomfortable, almost shy, one. It made her laugh, which was easy to do when she had been crying. This took him by surprise.

"Come on," she sad trying to return to the lightheartedness she had felt earlier. "Let's race back." She took off, racing ahead. For a moment he looked at her as if she were mad or just foolish, but, having nothing better to do and no audience, inexplicably joined in. His goal did not seem to be 

front gate of the Shrieking shack however. As he neared, she squealed once at his approach and again as he grabbed her around the waist lifting her slight frame from the ground a little ways as all boys love to do. She kicked wildly about and the two collapsed into the snow. She scurried away only to be hit, hard, in the back of the head with a snowball causing her to turn around in false outrage.

"That was for knocking me over." She scoffed and threw one back. "Pitiful Granger!" He threw another that hit her right in the mouth. Apparently, he was using a spell. That was a good one, she needed to learn it she made mental note. Completely impulsively, frustrated as she was having no success in the snowball fight, she lunged toward him, covering him with snow and sacking him to the ground with a thud that made him groan. They began to wrestle roughly in the powder for a moment before she escaped, laughing, and wondering vaguely if it was all really happening. Did she just hit Draco with a snowball? Did he laugh? Were they just – just playing? This must be a dream, a very strange dream, or a nightmare. She had no time to ponder this further before a roaring Draco grabbed her again and she screamed for help, laughing. People would definitely think the shack was haunted now with all the weird sounds coming from this area today.

Everything stopped. Draco was looking at her, panting and out of breath, face flushed and hair covered lightly in fresh snow flakes. They fell down into his eyelashes. She realized how close she was, how tightly he was holding her. She looked down automatically. His head dipped forward and she had the weirdest sensation. Had he? Yes, he had just licked a snow flake from her eyelash. She tried to back away, but he held her in place. No panic rose in her chest, yet. Then she looked up, following his gaze. There it hung a branch. Damn. Mistletoe. Oh horror of horrors. What were the chances?

"I've just had this idea Granger."

"What's that?" she asked with false bravado she knew not why she needed. She wondered if he noticed.

"We are going to married and we've never kissed."

"We kissed today." She corrected him.

"That wasn't real. I put my hand in between us."

"What about our engagement party?" she asked.

"That was hardly a kiss and you know it. What's the matter Granger? Scared?"

"Of kissing you?"

"Yes."



She laughed as if the idea was ludicrous, but she knew it wasn't entirely. "Yes," she answered sarcastically. "I'm afraid you might turn into a toad." She teased.

"Does that mean I'm a prince?"

"Hardly."

"Well come on then, let's see if any sparks fly, as they say." He leaned forward.

"No!" she jerked back.

"Afraid you'll fall in love with me?"

"No. I just don't want to kiss you is all."

"Why not?"

"I just don't."

"Find me unattractive?"

"Not exactly."

"Well then what's the problem? You might just like it."

"I don't kiss men who don't respect me."

"Who says I don't respect you?"

"Do you?" It was her turn to be utterly taken aback.

"You have your moments." He said with a light toss of the head. It might not be much, but coming from him and to her she was well aware that was quite a compliment. Still, boys would say anything…

"Just one kiss. Is that so much to ask?"

"Yes."

"Come on, kiss me." He requested plainly and unexpectedly humble, looking her dead in the eye.

"No." she answered simply, shaking her head in amusement at the nonsensicality of the proposal.

"Kiss me." He tried demanding harshly, and though it made her breath hitch she still maintained a solid 'no'. So he got absolutely ridiculous. Pouting, he said pathetically, making her laugh, "Kiss me?" Still she refused, growing quite amused with this show.



"Kiss me!" he yelled to the grey sky and she turned around trying to escape like it was another game. He grabbed her wrists roughly to stop her. "Kiss me." He ducked in towards her attempting to steal a chaste kiss just to defy her, but she successfully dodged him time and time again, leaving him smooching thin air with loud, exaggerated smacks. Now, his competitive nature and stubborn side really came out. Draco Mafoy was not one for backing down. It became quite a challenge to avoid his playful yet determined advances as the sport grew rougher and both began to get agitated with the stalemate.

Tearing away from him at last, she laughed breathlessly, evading him as lunged forward voicing his request as he did, missing her and landing flat on the ground, embarrassed. Without hesitation, she wheeled and fled, still giggling as behind her he began to run after her. He chased her like a beast after his prey growling, "Kiss me!" in an absurd manner. Through the woods they blindly darted and ducked. Anyone watching may thing she was really being chased by a young man forcing his lust upon her save the occasional accidental laughter, for both had such an air seriousness about their little contest. Indeed, each was barely sure of how genuine the other was in their part. He antagonizing her while she frustratingly denied him his desire was nothing out of the ordinary, but now their comedy was portrayed in such outrageousness she almost thought for a moment she might being enjoying herself in Draco's company.

Finally, he rounded a bend before her and she fell into him. He looked right at her, eyes smoldering ever so slightly, and requested with a sigh one last time: "Kiss me." Without warning, somewhere inside her, where she had never felt so much as a ruffle before, she began to feel the pull of attraction toward the forbidden; for against all previous thoughts, against all logical, all good reason and morals, she found that she actually wanted to kiss him. She wanted for those last few inches between them to be compromised and eliminated, to be close enough to feel the heat burning off his face an its pure intensity. She scolded herself, knowing it was wrong, fully aware she should not want such a thing at all. Certain it would only hurt later. It hurt now, the desire alone, the guilt. She wanted it so badly and inexplicably that she could not let it happen.

Her lips sealed tightly, she shook her head with a coy smile.

"Spoil sport." He rolled his eyes at her, giving up perhaps bored. She had to give him credit for the effort though. They two headed back towards the Shrieking Shack, or tried to. They soon realized they had managed to get themselves quite turned around during their little excursion. An hour of grumbling later, the two trod, soaked up to their knees from trudging through snow in circles, into town where the sun was setting and caught a carriage back to the castle. Both of them were in foul moods when they returned and both were secretly relieved when Madam Pomfrey told them that Neville was not having visitors today and to come back tomorrow.

"First thing after classes tomorrow," Hermione began.



"I know, I know." Draco grumbled, plopping down on the couch for the evening. Was today the same day he had tried to kiss her? The same day that she had almost let him? As before, a stranger would never have guessed the truth.

_**A/N: Thanks for reading! **__So they had one day together at last and almost a kiss. No, they are not rushing in, don't worry. I have many more twists and turns left in the plot to unfold. How did you like this chapter? What's next? Please let me know!_


	19. As Promised

**Disclaimer: **Please see previous chapters.

**Stolen**

_**A/N: **__Another fast up-date. Thanks for reviews last chapter and welcome to all the new readers! I almost did not include the 'kiss me' scene even though I loved writing it, but I'm glad to see so many people enjoyed seeing them have a flirtatious moment. To everyone: thanks for reading!_

**Chapter 19:** As Promised

As promised, right after classes, Hermione and Draco headed straight to the hospital wing to demand to see Neville. By then, of course, the school was buzzing, stares following them all over. Their faces were splashed on the front page of Witch Weekly and were the highlight of the social page of the Daily Prophet. Their kiss, clutched hands, and phony words were circulating all over the castle.

She should not have been surprised to see that they were misquoted and said quotes taken out of context, but she was still appalled. She let slip out an indignant gasp at the breakfast table before a sharp nudge in the ribs from Draco signaled her to turn it into a dry laugh. The article was topped with a picture of the two caught kissing and holding hands over the table along with a title in large black letters that read: "Unlikely Love".

"_When I spotted the happy couple they were all smiles, sitting quietly together in lovely café near Hogwarts, where they both currently attend school and are in their final year. The school's controversial decision to house the married and betrothed students together has raised many concerns along with eyebrows, but, the fresh, charming pair contest that they have never been doing so well in their studies. Their professors maintain their claim. In fact, Headmaster Severus Snape calls them both "excellent students" with very different strengths and styles that allow them to assist each other a great deal. As for being separated from their friends by this new housing order, Miss Granger affirms with a chill that "True friends do not abandon you." Evidently, she has called off all ties with her former friends, most notably the famous Harry Potter, in the light of her new situation. However, it is unclear whether this decision was made by her at their lack of support or on their part in discontent. Fellow students at the school collaborate having not seen the usual group of friends together at all since Miss Granger accepted the Malfoy proposal this summer. Indeed, she is quick to point out that "Harry Potter's political opinions are hardly my concern."_

_Just what are those opinions, and how unsavory could they be to end their friendship? Or was it jealousy? _

_Just three years ago, when Potter participated in the Triwizard Tournament, it was widely rumored in various news articles that the two were romantically involved. Not long after, Harry was devastated by Hermione's ending of their relationship when she fell in love with the _

_celebrated Bulgarian seeker Victor Krum (also a contestant). Viktor was unavailable for questioning on the matter and apparently has not been heard from in some months. He has not been spotted publicly since his appearance at the couple's stupendous engagement party at Malfoy Manor (article and other interview with couple in August 18th issue). It seems this young witch can charm almost anyone with her quick wit and perfect smile, but was it truly jealousy that turned Potter against his friend and led him and his cohorts to "abandon" her or was it she that ended their friendship when said political opinions became too eccentric?_

_It appears that while the Malfoy family is entranced with its newest member and appeals to purebloods everywhere to reconsider the possible benefits of such a bond, Harry Potter and his unwed, pureblood friends, Ronald Weasley and Neville Longbottom, seem to be less enthusiastic. Checking records, it is shown that neither Potter nor Longbottom put in a request for their friend's hand, while another friend, Mr. Ronald Weasley (brother of Fred and George, Weasely's Wizard Wheezes) did so and was rejected in lieu of Mr. Malfoy. This aroused my suspicion, but Hermione and Draco would not comment as to whether they had been secretly involved before the law was passed. Their mysterious smiles across the table they share reveal much more than words._

_This happy new couple seems to shine as a sparkling example of exactly what the minister hoped to achieve through this bill. Either they acquired freedom to be together in a world that once saw a "mixed-blood bond" as unspoken taboo, or they learned to love each other by breaking down the barriers of racism and their own pre-misconceptions. While they claim not to have gotten along at first and that they were "polar opposites", the groom-to-be now professes that they "cannot keep their eyes of each other," and Miss Granger (soon to be Malfoy) that her husband-to-be is "Everything…and more." Like a modern Romeo and Juliet "this new alliance may so happy prove to turn their households rancor to pure love.'"_

It took all the strength she could muster not to slam the paper down on the table, but she managed. Only just. "Widely rumored"? It was she that had started the whole thing! How could that woman warp things so mercilessly? Really! Harry and her involved? He, Ron, and Neville opposed to muggle-born marriage protection act? Victor… Romeo and Juliet? What the bloody hell?

The only person she saw who seemed pleased at all was Draco. He was so proud of his tact, in fact, that he gloated obnoxiously the entire day. It was sickening just to be around. As for the looks on Harry and Ron's faces, she dearly wished that she had never glimpsed them at all. Was it her imagination, or did Flitwick too give her an odd look when he passed out their tests? What was wrong with everyone? It wasn't as if her acting was all that good. Couldn't they read through her answers and spot the truth? She supposed she should be proud of their success, like Draco, but she only felt queasy. What's more, she was quite concerned if Neville had seen it and what he would think when the pair of them appeared in the hospital wing.

The answer to her question was soon revealed. It took some convincing, but Madam Pomfrey ultimately agreed to let the two in for a quick visit once they led her to believe it was of some secret, great importance that they speak to Neville. Hermione didn't exactly consider what they said a lie as she was certain Dumbledore would indeed have wanted her to visit her friend. The healer's adamancy regarding Neville's privacy and rest was not out the ordinary, but something about its unique intensity worried Hermione. She was further unnerved when the older woman told them they could visit a while if they promised not say anything about how he looked to anyone, and warned them quietly upon entering not to gasp it would upset him. Two pairs of eyes grew wide. Hermione's stomach was near her throat as they approached Neville's bed around which the curtain was drawn. Why would they gasp?

"Longbottom, you have visitors. Very enthusiastic visitors." At this, she threw them both a glance.

"Harry? Ron?" The eager voice called from behind the curtain.

"No, Neville," Hermione answered nervously. "It's me."

"Hermione?" he exclaimed. The curtain opened on the side and, feeling all was as it should be, the healer made herself scarce. "It's good to finally see you!" he declared.

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief and reached over to pull the curtain completely open.

"Brace yourself." Neville's kind voice warned.

"Oh, Neville," she attempted to reassure him. "I'm sure it can't be that ba-"

It was. Against her will, her hand rose to cover her open mouth. Behind her, Draco audibly winced.

Neville's face was almost entirely covered in bandages so it was difficult to grasp just what the damage under those bandages might be. A fresh and particularly nasty scar ran down his uncovered eye with two others parallel to it not quite as deep. His face was thinner and of a more pallid hue than Hermione had ever seen it. His coloration was almost cadaverous and made her feel like covering him with loads of blankets and giving him something piping hot to drink.

Thinking that was not at all bad idea, she moved to do so, bustling about like Mrs. Weasley. She managed to begin to brew him some tea while fetching him some more blankets. He took them gratefully and without protest. She then felt his forehead and saw one bandage was almost entirely saturated with blood. She insisted upon changing it. Pulling the old one away revealed the ghastly wound underneath. It was bloody, some fresh and sticky, some dry and caked. Part of the skin stuck to the cloth and pulled away with the cloth as she carefully removed it. He winced.

"Sorry," she offered, feeling very much so. The eye underneath was utterly gone, but scar tissue was forming along with scabs. Once the bandage was removed, she pressed gauze to the wound 

to keep blood from coming forth again. It still had not healed. Apparently, magic healing was not doing as was expected here. She was reminded of another time when such a thing had happened, when Mr. Weasley had been attacked by that snake in fifth year and the venom kept him from healing properly with magic. He had experimented with muggle-medicine, stitches to be exact. It gave her an idea. She looked cautiously around. Other than Draco still lagging quietly behind on Neville's bandaged side, there was no one in the room.

"I'm going to try something, Neville. Is that okay?"

"Go for it. I trust you. Besides," he laughed darkly. "You can't make it much worse, can you?'

He coughed a wet cough that did not sound promising. It seemed that whatever had attacked him had been venomous and it was making him sick. Draco handed him the cup of tea Hermione had prepared without prompting. "Thank you," Neville coughed in reply. Then he saw just from whom the cup had come.

"What is he doing here?" Neville immediately wanted to know, his attention called to Draco's presence.

"Well, he-" Hermione began.

"I'm here to wish you well, you great buffoon." He answered for her.

"Draco!" she reproached.

"Sorry," he sighed reluctantly. With a resigned sigh he began a somewhat forced, brief monologue. "Sorry you aren't well. Hope you don't croak or anything. Here," With that, he thrust a small, wrapped gift at the boy in bed. Neville looked at it, thunderstruck, as if it were an alien object. Draco looked at him as if _he_ were an alien. "It's for you, you great dote, aren't you going to take it?" he asked after holding out his hand awkwardly for a whole minute.

"For me?" Neville inquired, puzzled.

"Yes, for you," Draco spat, annoyed. "It's –your-get-well-gift." He said loudly as if Neville were hard of hearing. Hermione rolled her eyes at them.

Neville took the package cautiously with a glance at Hermione as if to ask, will it explode? She gave him an encouraging nod. He opened the paper to find a small, crystal ball with smoke swirling inside. Neville wasn't the only one to start in surprise. Hermione was impressed by the gesture too. What's more, Draco had come up with it himself. It was a Remebrall just like the one Draco had taken from him in first year.

"Hey thanks!" Neville cried.

"Don't mention it." Draco told him. "Really. Don't." Both Neville and Hermione smiled. Draco stared uncomfortably at them, feeling tremendously out of place, and then politely moved to window to pretend to be interested in the view.

"Here Neville," Hermione offered, pulling his attention from Draco whom he had been gazing at oddly. "Let me try this." She had summoned a bag from her room, one she always carried but had rarely used over the years. Draco recognized it as her first aide kit. She had used it on him before after one of their battles. She extracted a small, black bottle of peroxide, some cotton balls, a tube of antibacterial, healing salve, and some Oragel. First she cleansed it with peroxide. He must have expected it to sting because he half gasped and bit his lip in anticipation, but he felt nothing as the clear solution bubbled over his flesh. He sighed in relief and gave her a weak smile in thanks. She gave one back briefly, but her faced turned intent again as she refocused on her work. Carefully, she rubbed the two salves together, one for numbing the skin the other for healing, and applied it gently with cotton balls to the wound. Finally, she placed fresh bandages over everything.

"Well," she sighed, surveying her work happily. "You're done. We'll see if that does any good."

"Thanks Hermione. It's good to see you."

"Oh!" she exclaimed in realization. "I almost forgot. This is from me."

"A managorath plant!" he exclaimed as Hermione produced her gift. "It has strong healing properties hidden in the root! Amazing. Thanks Hermione."

"You're welcome."

"Maybe this will help." He suggested

"Help?" she asked softly.

"I'm afraid the bite is making me ill. Madam Pomfrey is sure she can cure me, she just doesn't know how yet." He laughed halfheartedly. Hermione sat down next to him, a concerned frown on her face.

"Neville, what happened?" Draco's head twitched at this, clearly he was listening even though he pretending to be watching the grounds and giving them their space.

"Well," he said slowly, squinting in concentration as he tried to recall. "It's hard to remember."

"Try." She said gently, taking his bandaged hand. Half a lopsided grin showed through the mask of bandages on his face. Draco's eyes shifted coldly over their enfolded hands.

"I was outside after hours," here he shook his head, as if berating himself mentally for his recklessness. "Stupid."

"Neville, everyone's been outside after hours, but not everyone's been a-a-" she stopped, waiting for him to explain if he had been attacked as she somehow suspected.

"I was walking, away from Hagrid's cabin where Harry had asked me to go for the D.A., and I didn't hear anything at first. That's what's weird. I didn't hear anything, not one thing. Then, all of the sudden there was this awful roar, not a roar exactly, more like a snarl. Only, it didn't come before the pain, but it hit at the exact moment. It-it was horrible." He struggled to find words that would describe the feelings he had felt, the pain, the fear. Unable to hit upon any that would do it justice he just fell silent for a moment, giving her a significant look laced with suffering. There was no need for him to articulate it because Hermione already began to understand the experience he'd had; for she had a similar one, and, though she had tried to push thoughts of it away, like corpses in water they began to surface, draining her complexion until she was scarcely darker than Neville.

"I think they were dark- there was more then one you see- and big. I could hear more then one and feel its weight pressing on top of me. They looked like shadows, no glowing eyes or anything. Utter darkness the whole time." She shivered. "Are you alright, Hermione?" he asked concernedly as he noticed her condition, but quickly lost whatever else he was going to say in a coughing fit that shook his body deeply.

"Neville?" she asked, worried. He tired to wave her off, protesting he was fine though coughing so hard he couldn't actually say it. She called the healer. Madam Pomfrey urged them out. Rather than return to their dormitory to study, Hermione waited outside for her to pass by in order to insure the opportunity to ask what she needed to know away from Neville's company. As the healer came bustling by just as Hermione had predicted, Hermione pounced, accosting her with questions.

"What's wrong with him? Why isn't he getting better? What attacked him?"

The woman sighed exasperatedly and paused in tracks for a moment to answer. "Miss Granger he is injured and ill; that is what is wrong with him. He **is** getting better its just taking time, and as for what attacked him, once we figure that out we'll be able to go about curing his internal ailments. However, since no one got a good look at it, including mister Longbottom, the chance of that is somewhat doubtful. In the meantime, I am caring for him to the best of my ability. Any more questions or can I return to my patient?"

"Thank you." Hermione turned on her heel and headed onward swiftly. A confused Draco followed, shaking his head.

"What's going on Granger?" he finally asked, bringing her out of her thoughts. "Is-"

"Is what?" she asked.

"We didn't really address this, but is- not that I care, mind you- is something going on between you and Longbottom?" She stopped in her tracks. She first gave her a stern look and asked if he was serious. He was. Then, she just cracked up. She was practically cackling, her eyes watering. Draco looked around embarrassedly to see if anyone was witnessing her lunacy.

"I'm s-sorry." She gasped out. "I just can't believe you just asked me that. Not that I'm saying that I _wouldn't_ date Neville!" she clarified strongly. "But no, we are not and have never been involved, nor have and Harry for that matter. That was entirely Skeeter's invention, both times for publicity. You know how that woman is."

He nodded as if he did not care, but something in her told her that was not entirely true. "So that's it then?" he asked in an attempt at causally.

"Yes, that's it."

"And Weasley?"

"Well," she answered slower, taking her time with this one. "We've never been together."

"He did propose to marry you though."

"Well, I said no."

"Because you had to."

"Even if I didn't-"

"What would it have meant if you had said no?"

"Well, under normal circumstances I would never have said yes."

"So you're not in love with anyone?" he asked, almost sheepishly. Draco Malfoy sheepish? She must be mistaken. Clarifying he added with haste, "I need to keep a very accurate list of people who want me dead." He said thoughtfully as the two walked on again. She laughed lightly.

"No. I'm not in love with anyone. I take it as Pansy drugged you and Morrissa called you a blood traitor there are only dozen or so girls I need to watch behind me for then?"

"Couple dozen." He agreed nonchalantly. She laughed again. "So, er, where exactly are we headed?" he asked.

"The library, of course. I've just had an idea." In the past, when she an idea suddenly occurred to her and she would race off to the library, Harry and Ron would know what had happened and where to come find her. It felt odd to have to explain her sporadic fleeing to the bookcases. "You don't have to come with me." She stopped in mid-step and addressed him considerately, as he was unfamiliar with her custom.

He looked bemused. "Why wouldn't I come with you?"

"Well-" she stopped. There in that hallway something else occurred to her. It didn't really matter what Harry and Ron used to do. Draco was not Harry and Ron, and that meant some things were going to be different with him than with them. Actually, mostly everything was going to be different. While she missed her friends, it might not be so bad to have some company among those dusty shelves. She smiled. "Come on then." She added more seriously, "I think I have an idea of where to look for what attacked Neville. Something he said triggered my memory and I-"

A shout across the entrance hall cut her off. The voice from which it issued was strikingly familiar but the vehemence it held made it indistinguishable until she turned and saw Ron coming towards them. He was positively livid.

"YOU!" he bellowed.

"Ronald I-I can explain-" Hermione began, assuming it was something about the article, something she had said. But it wasn't Hermione who was thrown across the floor, or her whose mouth was soon bleeding. Draco got to his feet quickly, wiping blood from his lip. Instinctively, Hermione went to him to make sure he was alright. Then, she angrily turned to face her friend.

"Ron! What are you doing?" she asked, taken aback and highly aggravated with his uncalled for violent outburst.

"What am I doing? The question is: what are you doing with this monster?" he asked angrily, pointing an accusing finger at Draco.

"Monster? Ron what are you talking about?" she asked him.

"He attacked Neville!" came another yell from somewhere not far behind Ron. Harry was also heading their way, looking every bit as furious as his best mate.

"No! No, he didn't." she honestly protested.

"Of course he did Hermione." Ron argued, Seamus behind him. "Neville was outside just after dark. When we last saw him leave the castle he was in one piece. After that, well, you should jut see what filthy rat did to him! Makes me sick."

"But it was not him!" Hermione grew red in the race, outraged by their jumping to a spiteful conclusion rather than reaching the most logical, productive conclusion.

"How can you defend him? You should go have another look at Neville, just lying there, wheezing and coughing up blood."

"We did go on see him." She snapped back, defensively.

"You did? Then you should- Wait a minute. 'We'? You mean both went and saw him?" he demanded.

"Yes. Together." She defied them. They glared.

"How could you take _him_ to see Neville?" Harry wanted to know.

"He wanted to wish him well."

"I'm so sure that's true." Ron spat sarcastically.

"And he did _not_ attack him Ron." She reiterated firmly.

"Then what did?" asked Harry. "The day Neville was attacked Draco was nowhere to be seen." Eyes were on them now. The same eyes that had read the Daily Prophet and Witch Weekly, eyes everywhere that were watching carefully with ears listening eagerly. All were waiting for her to make a mistake, to slip and fall to her death.

"I don't know. But it couldn't have been him. He was with me."

"The whole day?" Ron asked skeptically and loudly.

"The whole day Ronald!" she answered, her resolute voice echoing in the hall that was full of people and yet silent save their bitter debate. "And we can prove it. We were in the paper."

"Oh yeah we say the paper!" put in Seamus venomously.

"But what about night? The attack happened at night Hermione. How do you know where he went after that day?" Harry reminded her.

"We were together then too, Potter," a voice behind her sneered. Draco had spoken up at last. Hermione cringed; for she dearly wished he had not. His single sentence had caused half the hall to gasp, many to laugh, her face to turn even redder for quite a different reason, and Ron to come to a complete and utter speechless halt.

Harry had no response for that, no verbal response at least. Instead, he leapt on Malfoy without warning, hitting him hard in the face. Why were the boys acting like this? She tried to separate them as they slugged each other, but was continually pushed aside. Her spell to separate them was deflected by Ron. The crowd was going mad, turning into a cheering, chanting, and jeering mob. She didn't want Harry to get hurt, but she didn't want him to hurt Draco either. She was torn. It had to end. Hastily she dove in between the fighting bodies.

"Hermione MOVE!" Harry shouted in warning, fist drawn back like a serpent and ready to strike.

"But Harry he's innocent!" she objected tearfully, pleading with him to see reason, but he was enraged. He was beyond reason.

"I DON'T CARE!" he burst irately. How could he say something like that? Harry, her friend, the one who believed in giving people second chances and not assuming guilt until it was proven. She could not help it. Without her consent her hand flew up and struck him forcefully across the face with a snap. She gasped at the same time as Ron. Harry paled considerably and instinctively grabbed her wrist. Draco looked at her as if she had gone mad. Seamus swore loudly. Everyone fell silent again. All hung still, actions and thoughts suspended, poised in the soundless air, tension mounting, until, seemingly out of no where, a fist collided with the side of Harry's face powerfully, tossing it aside. He fell to the ground, pulling Hermione to her knees before he released her. Draco had punched him. With a roar, Ron ran forward, lunging at Malfoy and leaping over Hermione and Harry. Her eyes widened. Draco braced himself for the blow.

Snape's voice echoed throughout the hall. "Weasley! Potter!"

_A/N: Just a wee bit of a cliff hanger. This chapter was a good deal shorter then last time, but very important. What did you think of Rita Skeeter's article? Tell me what you liked, what you didn't, and what you are wondering about now. Review! The next chapter I loved writing. There is a flashback that will explain something many of you have been wondering about and a very important realization… Remember, the more reviews the faster you can see what happens next!_


	20. In Which Hermione Feels Confused

**Disclaimer: **Please see previous chapters.

**Stolen**

_**A/N: **__Wow! Thanks so much for the influx of reviews for chapter 19. It was exciting to see such a response. Hoorah for fight scenes! I spent a lot of time with the Rita Skeeter article, so I'm gad most of you liked the way that turned out. Several people caught on to some tricky details that will come out later. Good job! Yes, poor Neville. Will he die? You'll just have to wait and see. Last but not least, welcome to all the new readers. _

**Chapter 20:** In Which Hermione Feels Confused

Snape's shout could not stop Ron who was flying through the air when the call rang out across the hall. He collided with Draco, knocking him to the hard floor with a loud, resounding thud. Harry stumbled to his feet, his mouth bleeding, and proceeded to assist Ron in the scuffle in which he and Draco were already heatedly engaged. Just as the others began to emerge from the crowd, siding with Harry and Ron or with Draco, and creating a deadly brawl, Snape withdrew his wand and flung both boys off of Draco with a single spell.

"Everyone!" he all but snarled. "Back to your classes or I'll be deducting 100 points for everyone in your house still standing here in the next minute." They scattered quickly.

"Hermione, Draco," he addressed them promptly.

"Yes sir?" asked Hermione as Draco helped her from the floor.

"You are dismissed." He rounded on Harry and Ron. "As for you two," he growled. "Follow me."

Watching them go, she felt torn in half yet again. She didn't know what to think. They way they had ganged up on Draco like that… It wasn't right. She sighed. Turning to look at Draco she spied his mouth still bleeding. With a quick, wordless spell she healed it.

"I'm sorry." She apologized for her friends, still in disbelief.

"It's not your fault. They didn't act much your friends either." The comment stung her though that was not its intention. The sad truth of it was, they didn't. Then, a little reluctantly he offered, "I suppose I should thank you for defending me."

"Well, I know you didn't do it."

"That's just it though," he said slowly, looking at her carefully. "You don't." Her brow creased in confusion. He explained. "The picture from the paper was taken the day after Neville was attacked. It doesn't prove anything."

"Well," she responded somewhat bashfully. "I was with you the day he was attacked too and I knew you couldn't have done it because you were the hospital wing the whole time. I couldn't exactly announce to the hall that I'd attacked you and put you there, so I scrambled for whatever alibi I could."

"They're going to figure it out." He warned.

"Yes, and when they do I'll tell them the truth, but I'll only have to deal with them then."

"You will?" he asked with air of someone truly taken by surprise by this honesty.

"Yes." She answered, not looking forward to her confession in the least. "You stuck up for me too, you know." She added as an afterthought.

"Well, it's our job isn't it? Besides, I couldn't give up the opportunity to punch Potter." He laughed.

"Draco," she began.

"What?" he asked in a tone that showed he knew he wouldn't like her response.

"I have to go check on them." There was no need to explain. Fighting them was not going to make them trust Draco. She had to salvage what she could, attempt to make amends.

"I'll meet you in our dormitory." He said plainly. She smiled gratefully at him, to which he rolled his eyes and walked away. It only took her a few minutes of frantic catching up to find her friend's retreating figures in a corridor of the dungeon.

"Harry! Harry! I'm glad I caught you. Are you all right?" she huffed as she reached her two friends. They were not smiling.

"I'm Fine." His voice sounded stiff.

"What did Snape have you do?" she asked, worried.

He scowled in response, casting a sideways glance at Ron who now opened his mouth. "How could you Hermione?" he demanded simply, sounding rather sad.

"How could I what?" She asked defensively. "I was jut playing along for the Order."

"Oh yeah. The Order. Right." He scoffed, actually rolling his eyes.

"And just what is that supposed to mean Ronald Weasley?" Hermione thought he was being very hurtful.

"Nothing, except that you've been doing an awful lot for the Order lately." He stressed the word "order" with sick emphasis, dripping with sarcasm.

"I've been doing my job!" she snapped at him, infuriated by his stinging, if implied, allegations.

"Your job? You slapped Harry! You kissed Malfoy in public! You got us-your friends- into trouble! I think you've taken this quite far enough."

"I had to Ron! They have to believe that I love him!"

"Is that why you were kissing him all over the paper? Is that why you defend him at every turn? For the Order?"

"I do not defend him at every turn! I would not have had to at all if you and Harry had not tried to attack him in front of me and half the bloody castle. He did not hurt Neville. He could not have."

"The alibi is ludicrous, Hermione." Harry snapped. "That picture was taken the day after Neville was in the hospital wing. Draco was missing the day before he showed up. And-"

She cut him off. "I was with him then too and I know he could not have done it. As for kissing him, I am just acting Ron. I don't love Malfoy. I don't even like him."

"Well congratulations. You're a damn good actor. You even look like part of you enjoys his hands all over you-"

"Ron!" She was crying now, openly spilling tears. "This isn't even about Malfoy is it? I think, well, Ron I believe your just jealous!"

"Jealous? I'm Jealous?! Well that-that is- well," Ron stormed off, his eyes sparkling, footsteps resounding angrily throughout the dungeon corridor.

"Ooh I can't believe him," Hermione began as soon as he was out of earshot, but Harry rounded on her.

"So what if he is?"

"Huh?" she asked, dumbstruck.

"So what if he is jealous? What if he loves you Hermione? What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing," she answered quietly, regretting her outburst. "I was just so angry it felt like-like part of him didn't even trust me anymore." She looked up pleadingly at her other best friend, waiting, longing, to hear some reassurance of their faith in her. When none came after a moment, she shivered. Harry stared back at her and she looked away, unable face him with sobs swelling in her body.

"So you don't trust me either?" she whispered, horror stricken. A hand rested on her shoulder.

"I trust you, Hermione. I believe you would never betray me or the Order for any reason. I believe you are doing this for us. What's more, I know we couldn't do this without you." She closed her eyes, savoring each of his words like sips of hot chocolate after a dementor attack. "But-"

"But?" She wheeled back around. This time it was Harry who averted his eyes.

"But I don't trust Malfoy. And…Sometimes even the best of us- and that's you Hermione- pretend to be something long enough we sort of become it without realizing it. I don't want you to start believing this game you play with Malfoy is real. I don't want you to get hurt. Just bear in mind, not being a Death Eater doesn't make him a good person. I understand it's your job to fool everyone, and it can't be easy. Just," He paused, unsure if he should say what he felt he must. She nodded him on. "Just be careful you're not fooling yourself."

Harry turned away to follow after Ron, leaving her alone in the cavernous hall with a distinct chill having nothing to do with the weather outside and a tempest of emotions bubbling dangerously inside her. A few minutes later found her pacing heatedly back and forth in the Headmaster's office before his desk as he sat behind it scowling and examining his highly distressed pupil.

"They don't trust me! They really don't know whether I'm in love with Malfoy or not-"

"Do you know if you are in love with him or not?"

"Oh don't you start too!" she snapped at him. She had never spoken to a Headmaster like that before. She must be losing her mind. But really! Of course she was not in love with Malfoy! How could she possibly fall in love with such a –a?

"Do you know how you feel about Draco Malfoy?"

"Yes." She answered; trying to arrange her feelings into words should he ask. How did she feel about him exactly? She had to admit, when he wasn't being a complete ass he as rather good looking. As for his personality, he was as ever changing as the spring weather, freezing one moment and boiling the next. It seemed for each of his actions there was an equal an opposite second action, like some weird law of physics. If he did something especially nice it would soon be followed by his doing something remarkable foul. At times, his biting sarcasm was clever and even humorous, his uncouth absurdity as entertaining as it was annoying. Other times, his humor was too crude and cruel to suit her. Sometimes he was respectful and even a bit honest, other times deceitful, secretive, and seductive. He was maddening! However, he was also intriguing. Even now, he could still surprise her. He certainly roused her curiosity like no other.

"Are you absolutely certain?" Snape inquired again, recalling her from her thoughts. His look was a stiff one.

"Yes!" she affirmed.

"Good. Because it is very, very easy Hermione to loose ourselves behind our masks. Sit down. "

"No." she blatantly refused, astounding even herself.

"Pardon me?" he asked, outrage creeping through his dangerously soft and low voice.

"No. I- I just don't think I can do this anymore, professor. One minute I think I can trust Draco, and the next minute I'm sure that I can't. Now my own friends, the Order, and everyone I threw away my freedom for is doubting me. Why? Because I'm doing what they asked me to do, that's why! I'm doing exactly what they wanted and now they're bothered because I do it too well?

"I am completely alone. The people I'm surrounded by are my enemies and I must pretend they are my friends. I must pretend my friends are now my enemies. It's madness. There is no rest, no honesty. Day in day out, all my decisions are made for me. My reactions are predetermined. I have not a grain of liberty. Every move that I make, every word that I say, if chosen badly can mean death, for me or others. I'm sick of pretending! I'm sick of lies and the danger and the loneliness. All the nobility and prestige of being a spy is lost on me. I want my life back!" she ended by stomping her foot childishly, her eyes threatening to spill tears again, her voice threatening to break.

"You have reached an excellent point, Miss Granger." His reaction was far from any she would have expected. "Sit down." He once again requested. This time she did.

"It is very simple really. If you are good spy, then even those you serve will mistrust you. If you are a bad spy, then you die. Yes, there are no choices. The life we have chosen has stripped us of our liberties and much of our identity. But you are wrong. You are not alone."

"Draco?"

"Draco. I cannot see why the two of you remain so distant when your lives are so intertwined. You barely tolerate one another's presence. Are you afraid of getting too close? You have to be honest with each other to maintain your sanity. When I was lying to the world, even I had Dumbledore. The time I was alone, my mind started to slip from reality. Potter talked about losing hold of truth by pretending too much. It's highly possible. You must learn to confide in one another in a true partnership. I'm not asking you, by any means, to develop the same relationship you display in public, but an entirely different one, an honest, deeper bond. Your lives depend on one another. You are not as different as you think.

"Teenagers!" he exclaimed in frustration. "For Merlin's sake, just speak to him about it. It will help. You cannot keep coming to me, nor can he. It looks too suspicious." She was taken off guard by this fact. It had never occurred to her she was the not the only one seeking help in their situation, the only one for whom this was a difficult and grueling lifestyle.

"Draco has come to you as well?" she questioned him.

"Yes, and let me clarify something for the both of you: I am not a crisis counselor for troubled teens. I have a school to run. Either you can handle this yourself, or you cannot. Is it time to abort this mission, Miss Granger? Is that that what you both want, to give up?"

Hermione thought hard about that as well. She certainly did not want to give up. Hermione Granger had never given up on anything (but skiing) and she had no desire to abandon her mission for the Order, but something vexed her still. There was something she must ask.

"But can I- can I do this?" She needed to know.

"That is up to the two of you." He replied. She bit her lip in concentration.

"But you will do it," he said quietly, almost reluctantly. "I have no doubt." His answer surprised her. He elaborated. "Neither of you can afford to fail. You would not walk away from you friends if you thought you could help them. It's ironic. There is no cause for which people are truly willing to sacrifice themselves save one- for the sake of another. For such selfish creatures as humans this truth seems a paradox, but it is solid. The Dark Lord fails to understand this. Do not let that become your shortcoming too." It was true. Thus she made her decision. She nodded.

"Then you must be strong and endure. Keep in mind that the trials you face today will help you tomorrow. They may doubt you now, but the vindication you will experience from your role in the fall of your enemies and the saving of your friends will far outweigh the hardships you must suffer now. Take comfort in this assurance. Alas, down these roads, there is no turning back." He sighed here, clearly thinking of his own fate as much as hers. Then he was standing to round his desk and usher her out.

"I cannot stop myself from sounding like Moody when I say you must maintain constant vigilance. Be watchful. You will need your wits now more than ever. We must wait patiently for our time to come and our service to end. Soon enough, we will be free either by the end of this war or by the end of our lives. For it is all a game of time. Sooner or later, the delicate status quo will be disturbed. Sooner or later, everyone makes a mistake and that, for a spy, means death. The rules are very simple, but the game of deception is anything but easy. One of us will last and the other fail, our deceptions or our enemy's. "

"Professor I must ask you one last thing. You said we do not fight for a cause, but for another. Who do you fight for?" He did not answer. "I mean, you are on Harry's side aren't you?"

"I am not. I fight to destroy that which destroyed me. She would have wanted this. I could deny her nothing."

By 'she' he meant Lilly, of course. "You miss her, don't you?" Embarrassed for asking, she immediately excused herself. His voice stopped her.

"Are you on Harry's side, or Draco's?" he asked.

"Both?" she guessed for the answer he wanted, feeling like she was fishing blindly.

"No Granger. You are on Draco's and it's up to Harry to be on yours." He paused thoughtfully, then looking grim he added heatedly: "Of course I miss her, you foolish girl. Don't you dare pity me!" He snapped, turning away angrily. The harshness of his usually quiet voice made her jump. He redirected his gaze to the fire which was far easier to look at and she saw that strangely softer yet tragic look come over him. He said: "I still see her sometimes."

"Sir?" she asked, confounded and somewhat concerned.

"I find her here and there. I see in her son's eyes every now and then, like that night. That night. I catch a glimpse of her in your eagerness at study and in Draco's fiery temper. I see her gentleness in Lupin, her friend. I even spot her memory, from time to time, drifting along the corridors of Hogwarts. Occasionally, I see her face swimming in my dreams on those rare occasions when I have dreams instead of vile, violent and screaming memories. Whenever I do something for the Order, I think I see something of her even in me."

He was standing at the headmaster's window now, looking out over the grounds and the lake. It seemed so odd to hear Snape talk with love in his voice. It did not seem to fit somehow. It rather looked like a formidable dragon that sang like a dove.

"Sometimes I think I'm going mad." There was indeed a mad hint of amusement in his voice that unnerved her then, but it soon changed, darkened. "If this is madness let it come. Still, it is amazing what it can do to the mind."

"Which exactly, love or loss?" she asked, trying to grasp something beyond her tender years of experience.

"Yes." He replied.

There was always a reason; she had been certain, more than rivalry and humiliation behind Snape's intense hatred for James Potter. Because of this suspicion, that night over the summer Snape had referred to, she had been the least shocked of her friends to hear of the real reasons. The memories came rushing back to her just as they had in the hospital wing when Neville had described his attack.

The three of them, she, Harry, and Ron, had returned to Hogwarts one summer night in search of clues, of anything, Dumbledore may have left behind to help direct them to the rest of their Horcruxes. Once they had arrived at the castle, they had actually managed to break into the Headmistress' office, at the time McGonagall's, only to find no evidence of Horcruxes before the alarm was raised. Unable to sneak into the library, Room of Requirement, or the Chamber of Secrets, the three had fled to the edge of the forest. From the shadowy border of trees they could 

still spot the luminous, white tomb of Albus Dumbledore as they watched the castle lights come to life, dancing in the windows.

Not far off somewhere behind them they heard the baying of Fang quelled by Hagrid's familiar, rough voice. Exchanging significant glances the group rushed further into the darkness of the forest. They soon wished they had not.

They came to a spot, stumbled upon it really, that seemed to be the smallest of clearings in the woods. Something about the place sent chills down Hermione's spine immediately. Just as she reached out to motion to Harry that they should move on, her hand came in contact with something other than her friend's familiar shoulder. It was something rough and wet. Turning slowly to peer through the night, Hermione listened to the breathing of her friends become rapid once more as they two surveyed their eerie surroundings. She spied Ron who was looking up into the high canopy. Automatically, she did the same only to see that the trees all around them were covered in something strange, dripping with it. The sinister nature of the sight was procured by the substance on the trees that was darker than both the trees themselves and the dim air about them. It did not drip like water. Rather, it drug itself slowly, slithering lazily downward like syrup. Rubbing her fingers together, the solution proved to be not very thick, but fairly sticky and oddly recognizable. It had an odd smell, almost metallic. Then it hit her. The trees and the moist ground, on which they were lightly stepping, were entirely covered with blood. Hermione gasped. What had done this?

Together, they stepped backwards until they were away from the clearing once more. There, they looked at one another. Now that understanding had dawned, fear and disgust marked every countenance. They did not hesitate in changing course, but suddenly Ron froze in his tracks, shushing them. Harry and Hermione grew still and quiet as well, straining their ears and eyes to find what had caused Ron to stop. Soon, she began to pick up on it too. At first, it was so faint that she barely believed it was a significant sound at all. Perhaps, it was just the wind. But there it was- swelling and growing like an orchestra-: a low rumbling. As it grew, the ground began to tremble ever so slightly and Hermione's eyes widened. Wordlessly, for there was no time to explain, she grabbed her friends' arms and took off at a dead sprint back towards the castle, dragging them along. If the boys were confused by this action they soon figured out the reason for it; for the rumbling grew to a roar, the pounding of hooves gradually made distinguishable, and ground reverberated as they darted through the already treacherous terrain of the forest. They ran clumsily, tripping and stumbling often upon a stationary root or shaking stones in the darkness. Not once, however, did they dare to stop though their sides ached and lungs stung.

At last, they broke the forest line, but still the pounding army approached, closing the gap between them with twice the speed and agility with which the friends could manage. Heading towards the castle, none of them could help but glance back as the source of the tumult too breached the tree line and came barreling out of the woods. A risky pause to look back and satiate her thirsty curiosity revealed the thundering multitude to Hermione. There was a rising, dipping sea of bodies of shinning, ghostly unicorns. There were dozens of them, lead by majestic gold-horned stallions. Storming with them were many of the warlike, elusive centaurs, possibly their entire forest population. They clamored out of the forest rampantly in massive waves and the trio quickened their pace, still attempting to hide under the cloak. They were only a few meters' dash from one part of the castle into which they could duck in and hide as the horde raced by, but the stampede was gaining on them too quickly. It would be close.

She looked back again as the noise grew to a deafening level. It was unclear whether the heard was running for their lives from something or towards something to attack, but one thing was evident: they were neither pleased nor rational.

Hermione's legs were tiring and the shelter looked as if were getting further away rather than closer, when a unicorn, detached from the group and far ahead of them, tore past her at lightening speed, the wind from it hitting her in the face. Thinking quickly, she tore the cloak off of them. It obstructed their ability to run properly and the equines certainly would not dodge them if they could not seem them in their way. They would not make it to cover before the entire mass converged.

Harry yelled in protest, but soon seemed to spy her reasoning, or was too out of breath to argue further. They could feel, like the propelling force of an invisible magnet behind them, the horde coming closer, pressing in on their backs. Oh to be trampled under foot of those heavy beasts, and so many of them! They would never survive.

Somehow, though she could not imagine how, they had sped up more, pushing their screaming bodies to go faster, faster. The swarm was close now but they could almost touch the stone of shelter ahead. Hermione extended her hand in anticipation and touched something else, the soft, silvery back of a passing unicorn. It paid her no mind, but she exclaimed at its satiny feel even in the midst of such commotion. From behind, she admired its magnificent muscle and speed. An angry looking centaur, smaller than others she had seen, rode by as little more than a blur to her other side. The front of the storm had caught up. She wanted to scream, but didn't. She did not have the breath.

Finally, the three of them leapt with what strength they had left under the safety of the castle's outdoor covered walkway, collapsing in a messy, breathless pile. In a flurry of color, heat, sweat, and motion the mass passed them, cutting the corner around their hiding place uncomfortably close. Unable to help themselves, they watched the display closely, amazed. It was a stupendous sight. Perhaps one the world had never seen. She had certainly never read about it.

Once the mad dash was over and only a few, panting stragglers ran past, the three cautiously- laughing no less- left the safe confines of their covered corner and came out onto the grounds just outside the courtyard. She vaguely recalled their babbling exclamations as they emerged, still in awe. A last leg of the runners tore past around the corner, taking them by surprise and passing so quickly and closely that they knocked into Harry, throwing him off balance so that he 

toppled over and fell to the ground. As the group watched the animals go thundering by, something leapt from the shadows and took down a large unicorn with a loud thump and a vicious snarl. They all froze in surprise and terror as the two beasts struggled on the castle lawn, but only for a moment. The unicorn's final screams were unnatural, and horrible. Hermione clamped her hands tightly over her ears in hopes of keeping them out, but it only softened the truly blood-curling notes. Her eyes stung. She directed a hex at the predator. Big mistake.

Already, the trio was racing back to their cover, attempting to pull the cloak over them as they went, but they ran too late. Harry had barely pulled himself up from the ground before something large and snarling crashed into him as well. He shouted. Hermione turned back to seem him leaping up, the animal thrown aside by a curse, but the creatures were too fast for them. More appeared from no where, a pack of indiscernible brutes. In the moment, all she could register was the sheer size of the canines that were grinning maliciously back at her from the darkness, the yellowness of the eyes around the black pit pupils. The teeth, whatever animal they belonged to, were like nothing Hermione had ever seen, except perhaps in Fluffy first year. The fiends were dark and hairy, the latter she could feel as one reached her. Their breath was horrible she discovered as the foul odor engulfed the air around her as it came close.

Teeth tore flesh in hot agony and ripped and tugged at her legs like they were ropes in a game of tug-a-war. Her body was losing. The blood, her blood, she could feel it seeping- yes seeping- from her, draining her of strength, chilling her even, spilling onto the dew-damp grass in warm, wet waves. She screamed in pain, fear, helplessness, to no one. Her own screams were echoed by her friends nearby though she could not seem them. Her head was bursting with pain and panic. The merciless snarling was louder than before, the night growing somehow darker. Why was her curse not repelling the beast?

Then, very abruptly, something changed. Things became, by some means, quieter, and the flailing her body had been doing ceased. She felt strong hands slide under her arms and pull her painfully away; unbeknownst to her, lifting her to safety. That part she remembered very well. The rest was another matter.

She was weary from loss of blood and confused when she awoke, nudged by Ron. They were back in the forest. The faint light there gave the impression it must be day. Harry was standing, though he could barely do so in the shape he was, over the figure of their former professor Snape. He had saved them. But he had killed Dumbledore. It made no sense.

She had long ago learned to look for an answer before acting on presumptions, but Harry, for all his strengths that surpassed her own abilities, could not yet see this. He was rash. Snape, a very skilled dueler put up so little of a fight, her suspicion grew. The man looked as if he had not eaten in days, nor bathed. He needed the attention of a healer as well. Had he been living all this time in the woods? She pleaded with Harry to wait, to see reason. He refused. The mere memory of the look in his eyes disturbed her even now.

Thus Harry had gone to kill Snape, blaming him for the deaths of everyone he loved, but something had made him stop. It froze him. It took him off guard and shook him in ways even she would not understand.

"I never hurt Lily." Snape had protested.

"Wh-What did you say?" Harry asked. "What did you call her?"

"Lily." He repeated with bitterness beyond what their years could comprehend. "I was you mother's friend, at one time."

"No." Harry shook his head in disbelief.

"I tried to protect her." The man before them gasped out, as if desperately confessing a sin kept to himself for years, eating away at him.

"No." Harry repeated, as it were some incantation to put things right for him.

"I was promised she would not be harmed!"

"Just me and father killed then, was that the plan?" Harry demanded of him viciously. "Once we out of the way you would get her back then?" He screamed at the older man.

"I hated Potter!" Snape spat in response. "He was an arrogant pigheaded fool and he didn't deserve her. I may have stood by and let him die but I did not know Voldermort was going to hurt you."

"Don't pretend you suddenly care about me?!" Harry roared, the hurt in his shaking and furious voice matching Severus note for note.

"Your mother loved you very much. When the Dark Lord killed her I swore vengeance. I swore to become a spy, help defeat him. I swore to protect you. If it wasn't for me you and your friends would have been eaten by those beasts, torn apart! You ungrateful little-"

"But you are a traitor! You killed Dumbledore!"

"Dumbledore asked me to kill him!" Snape shouted, looking madder than Harry. Surely, such a thing could not be possible, Hermione thought, shaking her head in disbelief and looking at Ron who was equally skeptical. Surely.

"Dumbledore found out that Draco had vowed to the Dark Lord to kill him though Voldermort knew he would fail. In order to o keep my cover, I had to swear to his mother to help Draco in his mission. I took an unbreakable vow, and Dumbledore was set on saving us both when you told him what you had over heard. I would have died willingly. I would have easily, gratefully even. We argued many times…but he was certain, resolved. He had his reasons. He was going to tell you when the ambush took place on the tower last year. You were there Harry. He was begging. The potion, it did terrible things to him. He knew he would die-"

"Enough!" Harry shouted, unable to bear anymore. "I'm taking you to Azkaban where you belong. The dementors can have you." He said, reminding everyone of what he had told Wormtail back in the Shrieking Shack years ago. He was trembling, sweating, exhausted by hate and love and fear.

Snape suddenly came alive at this, apparently set against going to Azkaban. With a yell, he leapt up attacking Harry. Ron and Hermione stood, too dumbstruck to react right away, wandless. Within moments Snape had Harry alone in the forest at this mercy, but his steady hand faltered for once. He turned away. Hermione alone understood immediately why. Everyone had always told Harry he had his mother's eyes.

At long last, Harry had seen it too, a glimpse of the true Severus Snape. That man was never to been seen again.

"Will you help us then?" Harry had then panted. Snape nodded with the air of man who had nothing left but a ghost reflected in the eyes of an enemy, a hope for vengeance that would not satiate his need nor end his suffering.

When they arrived back at Headquarters, the three had to interfere to save Snape from being massacred by everyone else. Harry looked at Hermione amidst the tirade of questions and she understood without need for words. He was going to honor Snape's privacy, keep his secret. She could never forget how noble her friend had looked as the Order grilled him with questions of Snape's loyalty.

"If you trust me, then you must trust him." Harry had stated simply. She had felt something like a strong mix of pride and sadness, not unlike the feeling she got when she read the end of A Tale of Two Cities, when someone had snapped: "Who killed Dumbledore then?" and Harry had responded: "I did." No one asked anymore questions after that.

"Miss Granger if you are quite through staring into space, kindly take your things and get out of my presence. "

She left him in peace to delve into her own dismal thoughts. Once she returned to her dormitory, however, she found more immediate things to worry about than her dilemma. Such as, where was her fiancée?

_**Important A/N: **__Where is Draco? Want to see? Review and the next chapter will be posted soon! As for the flashback sequence, I hope this answers most of your questions about Snape, if not please let me know. This story does pick up from the end of book six, but it will not follow the seventh installment in canon since I wrote the plotline and beginning of Stolen before the last book came out. A lot of it is similar though, as you have noticed with the Lily excerpt, but only _

_because I guessed at it beforehand. Some will be quite different, so keep that in mind to avoid confusion. As always, reviews are GREATLY appreciated. Thanks for reading._


	21. Where Draco Was

**Disclaimer: **Please see previous chapters. Thank you!

_**A/N: **Thanks so much to all who reviewed! They were excellent. We did not have as many as usual so if keep in mind that even if you did not care for it or don't have much to say I would still like to know what you thought. To those of you who longed for more Draco/Hermione I think you will enjoy this. Thanks for reading! Now, about Draco…_

**Stolen**

**Chapter 21:** Where Draco Was

The bell that hung on the door frame tinkled merrily as Hermione pushed her way through the growing mound of snow into the pub. She did not feel nearly as bright and merry as that bell. She had just spent hours in the cold, staggering through some of the thickest snow she had ever encountered this early in November. Her teeth were chattering, her face stinging, her nose frozen, and hands stiff and chilled as a corpse. She had searched everywhere that had a light in the window, no matter what unsavory characters might be loitering about. From one end of the town of Hogsmeade to the other, she had trudged against the biting wind; half of the time wondering what had gotten into her fiancée and the other half wondering why she bothered to search for her him at all. More than once, in fact, she had considering turning back around and returning to school to change into warm, dry clothes and curl up in by the fire. There she could comfortably await his return and proceed to chew him out for such an irresponsible and unreasonable absence. Something, however, kept her footprints headed through town rather than turning towards warmth and safety. It was a gentle tugging in the back of her mind, like the current had on lure. It was a distant worry that perhaps something had kept Draco, that something terrible may have gone wrong and that was coupled with some confused delusion that this was somehow her responsibility. Though she may want to, something in her would not allow her to abandon him, and so on she forced herself with fear mounting with every step though she fought it down, calling it foolish in its very face.

Now, at long last, there he was in the Hogshead. After all her fanciful dreading, she was more than a bit surprised to find Draco slumped leisurely at the bar, red faced and jaunty. He was practically falling from his stool with a pint in hand that she seriously doubted was his first. Though this was by no means somewhere she felt comfortable, keeping her head held high, Hermione boldly made her way straight over to the bar and cleared her throat at his back. "Hello Draco," she said menacingly.

"Oi!" he exclaimed, pivoting half around. "Hello Hermione my old pal, old friend. What are you doing out here at this time of night? Little past your bed time isn't, eh?" He chuckled at his joke and lifted his mug once again to his mouth.

"I've been looking for you." Her voice was hard and stated very clearly that she was not about to hold much nonsense.

"Uh-Oh. Ooh. I think I'm in trouble mates." He elbowed the other men at the bar, some of them very young men, who guffawed loudly, making Hermione's face redden deeper. It did not faze her.

"Too right you are, and you are going to put that drink down right now, get up, and walk back to castle with me."

"I'm going to give you straight, Granger." He turned to her, expression suddenly genuine, if a bit dumb. "I don't think I can do that."

"Oh really? And why not?" she smartly replied, quickly growing sick of his difficultness.

"Because I doubt I can get up and I seriously doubt I can walk. You might find this hard to believe love, but I'm a tad bit home and I think I'd like to go drunk." He finished thoughtfully; looking rather pathetic she had to admit. Still, she was no where near laughing.

"You mean you are tad bit _drunk_ and you'd like to go _home_." She corrected him.

"What? Yes, exactly. That's what I said."

"No. you said you were a tad bit **home** and you would like to go **drunk**."

"Of course I didn't say that. That's ridiculous, it doesn't make any sense. It makes me sound like a moron." He babbled.

"No, it makes you sound like a drunken moron and right now that's not too far off the mark."

"Listen here Hermione, I am tired and sick-" he slurred, wagging a wobbly finger in her face and squinting in concentration. "Of people telling me what did and said not say, er, or something like that."

"How many have you had?" she asked him, staggering backwards as his strong breath hit her in the face.

"Er," he began unsure. "Few. Several? I cannot give you an exact count." He said with false regret.

"And why can't you?" she demanded.

"I don't really recall now…"

"That's a lie." She said bitterly.

"What?" he asked outraged.

"We all know you don't know how to count." Draco fumed as the others at the bar chortled at Hermione's jibe. "Come on." She sighed, taking him under the arms to help him outside.

Once they stumbled out and were making their wobbly way through the snow back towards school, Draco seemed to recover from the embarrassment of having his fiancée drag him form the bar and even got into the holiday mood as he began howling Christmas Carols at the top of 

his lungs. At one point, he stopped in his singing to face Hermione seriously. His breath once again assaulting her face, he said: "Before you get angry, I just want to try and see things from my perspective."

"Oh I'm trying." She assured him, her tone littered with more than a bit of sarcasm.

"You are?" he asked, incredulous.

"Yes, but unfortunately for you I can't seem to stick my head that far up my arse."

"I'm really not as think as you drunk I am!" he blurted out. She raised an eyebrow skeptically.

"Clearly."

"I'm only a bit tipsy!" he protested.

"Tipsy?" she shouted back, then scoffed. "You're practically poring over."

"Hehe. Pouring. Like a teapot. Are you calling me a teapot, Granger?" he giggled foolishly.

"No. I'm calling you an idiot." She responded dryly, huffing with the effort it took to drag him uphill. He giggled mindlessly as they made the rest of the way back up to the school through the growing chill. She had to cast a silencing charm to quiet him in the hallways. Once upstairs, she did not remove the charm right away. To be honest, she did not feel like listening to his drunken rambling one bit. She couldn't believe him! How could he be so, so STUPID? He had done ridiculous things before, certainly, but this took the cake. She wanted to strangle him. Instead, she helped him into his pajamas and then into bed while he giggled soundlessly at her.

Finally, she removed the spell with a resigned sign as she moved to ready herself for bed. From where he laid, Draco spoke to her, pouting no less.

"You know. You really should try not to fall in love with me."

She scoffed. "I will try not to."

He moaned, tossing in his bed and trying to get comfortable. From under the covers he mumbled incoherently.

"What?" she asked, though she did not really have an interest in knowing.

"This is your fault you know. You did not have to say it."

"Excuse me?" she demanded laughing in a way that showed she was anything but amused. "Are YOU blaming me? Me? You are the one who ran off, alone, and got-got utterly inebreiated!"

"Speak English."

"Drunk." She responded sharply. You're drunk and you're saying it's because of something I said. I don't remember telling you to go see how many bottles of firewhiskey you could down in an hour. What could I have possibly said to vex you so you turned into a bloody drunk?"

"That you hated me." It was as if something had slapped her across the face.

"I never said that." She said, puzzled.

"You said, you did not love me, you didn't even like me." Then he had overheard her speaking to Harry and Ron. He had heard what she said about him. But she didn't mean it- did she?

"Why do you care anyway?" she snapped defensively, very thankful her could not see her face behind her dressing curtain.

Without warning he shouted at her from across the room as she emerged. "How am I supposed to be honest with someone who only pretends to like me? I thought you were on my side! I thought we were working together! You lie, just like everyone else." She was taken aback, not by his sudden outburst alone but also by the look in his eyes that accompanied it, that stinging glimmering gloss over them that threatened to spill over, that pewter color swallowing them up. She recognized that feeling. She was no stranger to it herself. He was not upset that she wasn't in love with him; he was upset that she had lied to him, used him, mistrusted him, and hated him even. She had left him alone.

"I did not say I hated you Draco. I don't hate you." She gently clarified, guilty.

"You said you were just pretending to like me, for the Order. What does that mean?" He ventured curiously. She thanked God for his drunken state.

"It means," she hesitated. "It means that I said I didn't like you so that my friends wouldn't be angry with me. I'm not in love with you. You know that part is just pretending, but, well, I like you enough I guess."

"I'm confused," he groaned, already gripping his head. She went over to his bed, turned out his lamp, and went to pull his curtains. "Are you lying to me or your friends?"

"I-" she stopped. "I'm confused too." Now it was her turn for those fiery drops to swell and sting her eyes. His own glassy ones looked up at her nightgown clad figure above him with a most unfamiliar look in them; they seemed to swell and then darken by widening pupils. Arching back his neck, as he examined her from where he laid, indisposed. She was made somewhat uncomfortable with eyes ablaze like that, but stayed her ground, curious. He sighed oddly and she waited for him to speak. His breathing deepened as he stretched and half propped himself up on his pillow. This time, his breath barely reached her when he spoke.

"Kiss me." He requested plainly as if they had long been lovers who would be parting now for a time. With that, she shut the curtains and left him to promptly pass out. It was not his request that bothered her, but his tone that had unnerved her. There had been such- dare she say it- intimacy there. Not seduction. Not lust. Just intimacy.

Alcohol, she told herself, did strange things to people. It made them say things they would not normally say, do things they would not normally do, forget who they really were, or she reminded herself, who they were pretending to be.

Shaking the notions from her spinning head, she retired to bed herself. She should not allow it to grate on her nerves so, she told herself. He was drunk after all. Yes, and he would not remember in the morning, but she would. She would remember the words and lies she had become tangled in earlier. Who was she lying to anyway? She was beginning to like Draco, but she could not admit that to her friends. Snape's words too weighed heavily on her thoughts. "Sooner or later everyone makes mistakes." Were her feelings for Malfoy going to be her mistake, her downfall? Was this not what she was supposed to do? Make friends with him and bring him over to their side? Why did fooling him feel so, well, wrong?

Perhaps there was an idea. To earn his trust, she must show her trust in him. There could be no manipulating him for the book of Casus Malfoy. It was too risky. Yes, that was it! She had once read that the truth was one's greatest weapon, so she would wait for the opportune moment and she would tell Draco the truth, the horrible, ugly, and terrifying truth or Voldermort and who his leader really was. Then, she would ask him for the diary. If she had done the rest of her job well, he would agree. If not, she had already failed anyway.

But perhaps what bothered her most of all as she tossed and turned seemed silly in comparison to all she had to agonize over. All the same, she could not help but think of the moment- the half a mad moment - when kissing Draco Malfoy had looked like a good idea. It was brief, a typical second when her teenage hormones momentarily became the tyrant of her body before being shoved back into place by her good reason. Absurd, though he did have his handsome moments: looking up at her from his bed, covered in cold rain upon a windy edge, light hair flaked with snow and laughing at her as he chased her, infuriated with eyes burning and smoldering wildly. She shook her head again, clearing it of those images. Lust was more powerful a vice than she had given credit for in the past. She had never been so tempted from her senses by Ron…Ron.

His anger and Harry's concerned face swam before her eyes again. Frustrated, she punched her pillow. Hermione Granger did not sleep a wink that night, which was very unhealthy for someone so close to exams. Consequently, she rose the Monday morning for classes groggy, grumpy, and what some- some meaning Draco- would call vile. In fact, he did call it just that. He was a fine one to talk, she sourly reflected, all hung-over as he was.

Be that as it may, by afternoon her mood had greatly improved. Now that all distractions were out of the way, fights with friends, major epiphanies, almost kisses, drunken excursions, and classes, they could get down to the really important business: to the library! For some mysterious reason, Draco did not seem as excited about their little trip as Hermione was. Of course, what could she expect really? No one had ever shown genuine enthusiasm in joining her in library. It had been some while since she had determinedly marched to those shelves and searched diligently for something of significance and could not help but feel then the contentment one received from scratching a very persistent itch at long last.

Hermione had shared her story with Draco of her encounter this summer in as much detail as she could muster and explained to him her idea to piece together a list of information known about the animal that attacked her and her friends from both encounters. For instance, they knew it had to posses remarkable stealth, it was significantly large, hunted at night, had horrible breath, a snarling growl, and was furred. Highly cooperative, Draco wrote down adjectives and observations during her narration of the attack on her and her friends, helped recall all the words Neville had chosen to describe it, and even made a small sketch of what the creature may look like taking these characteristics into account. She was impressed with his artistic skills and told him so. For once, he was not unbearably cocky.

They found what they were after pretty quickly. Actually, Draco pointed it out first. There as a small paragraph in their former textbook, Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, on an animal that caught his eye. He matched its description to the list he had been studying and excitedly called her over to read it. She stood behind him, reading over his shoulder, eyes widening as they scanned the page. There were only two sentences on it, but two very enlightening sentences that seemed very promising: the Nundu.

"This East African beast is arguably the most dangerous in the world. A gigantic leopard that moves silently despite its size and whose breath causes disease virulent enough to eliminate entire villages, it has never yet been subdued by less than a hundred skilled wizards working together.'"

"Draco, you may be on to something."

Feeling victorious and proud of himself, he lightly pounded a fist on the table with a smile. She raced to the appropriate section and dug out a volume on the most dangerous foreign beasts.

How foolish! She had only thought to look at those that were native to Britain, but, she told him as she rifled through the book, if the animal that attacked her and her friends was native then it would have been spotted about the castle grounds or attacked before now. This, of course, meant that it wasn't there by accident. Someone had put it in the forest. But why? Was its goal to attack students or had that been a digression from their plan? Had they lost control of the creature? It was a wild beast after all. Or could the attack have been part of the plan, a diversion not unlike the one Harry and Ron had been planning to allow them entrance in the Chamber of Secrets?

"Draco, that's it! You found it. It's very powerful and dangerous, a giant leopard, horrible toxic breath, silent in its stalking. But it's from Africa, so it must have been brought onto school grounds by someone!"

"But who?"

"I don't know. We can figure that out after we find out how to cure Neville."

Thus the hectic search for the antidote to the nundu poison began. This part was far more difficult and took a great deal longer. About dinner time, Draco got exceptionally whiney, but about that time Hermione leapt from the ladder and practically landed on him, declaring happily that she had found it, only to be furiously shushed by madam Pince.

"I found it Draco!" she whispered excitedly again, her eyes watering in relief. Neville would be fine! He looked on eagerly, former complaints for food momentarily forgotten. "What is it?"

"A potion. It's difficult, but I'm sure Snape can do it. Come on!" she began to drag him towards the door. Draco did not budge.

"What?"

He hesitated, his expression dark. "Hermione, does that potion have any side effects?"

"Well, I didn't really finish reading the article…" she drifted off as she read it to herself. Her excitement dampened. "Oh dear." She gulped. "If the nundu is not the cause for the victim's sickness then the antidote is so strong it's fatal."

"Then don't you think we ought to be sure we're right before we come running in to save the day?"

"You're absolutely right." She settled quickly.

"I am?" he asked, surprised at her answer.

"Yes. And I've just had an idea. We need to catch a glimpse of these things for ourselves on the grounds to make sure."

"Catch a glimpse? Hermione are you mad? They'll eat us!"

"That's where my idea comes in. You see, these cats hate water so we can go out onto the lake and wait for it to appear at night hiding in one of the boats. Once we witness it, we can be certain enough and tell Madam Pompfrey and Snape-"

"But if someone put it there on purpose don't we need to find out who and why before they know that we know? I mean, what happens if it's someone on the inside? Aren't we jeopardizing things here?"

"But Neville's life is in jeopardy!"

"I know but-"

"Maybe the two of us could brew it. That way no one besides us would know. I think we could manage it. We are both fair in potions. Mind you, we'd get no credit for it."

"Great, that's just what we need right now."

"Draco, it's his life that matters."

"I know I know. I'm only saying. How do we figure out who brought it on the grounds then?"

"What if we brewed it in secret? Then once we saved him we watched people's reaction very closely?" Hermione proposed. "If it is someone inside the castle who brought it in, then they are going to know we what's really going on and that someone is on to their scheme. We can watch for it in their faces."

"That's brilliant!" Draco exclaimed, not bothering to conceal his astonishment. "How do you come up with this stuff?"

"Well, you did help quite a bit." She said modestly.

"I guess we make an okay team at times."

"Not bad. Now all we have to do is camp out on the lake tonight and-"

"Whoa! 'We'? I beg your pardon Miss Granger, but I, for one, am not sleeping on a freezing lake to get a glimpse of a ferocious, lethal cat."

"Well I can't do it alone! I need your help." She protested.

He paused and asked innocently. "Sorry, what was that?"

"I said: I need your help." She repeated, irritated. "Are you going to do it or not?"

"Hmm…" he stroked his bare chin thoughtfully. "Say please.

She sighed exasperatedly, but acquiesced nonetheless. "Please."

"I'll consider it." He teased obnoxiously.

"Come on, Draco. _Please_." She persisted, frustration mounting.

"Kiss me." He proposed suddenly.

She shoved him half heartedly, ignoring his request. "Come on."

"Worth a try." He said with a tilt of the head and that trademark, insufferable smirk of his.

"Aren't we going to dinner?" Draco called to her back as she headed back towards Ravenclaw tower.

"No! We don't have time. We've got to be out there by nightfall"

With a low growl, he reluctantly followed her. Upstairs, they readied themselves for that night. Hermione packed her first aide kit, an assortment of magical and muggle healing materials and a couple consultant books should they need them. With it she packed two sets of Ominoculars along with the photograph of a nundu from a book in the library to identify it.

"We're going to need food." She told Draco as he watched her pack.

"That, I can handle." Off he went to sneak into the kitchens like she had showed him. She smiled at his retreating figure and thought of something else to pack: Draco's book of Poe's works. They still had a story to finish and she was certain they would get bored at some point in time waiting out there. That would be one way to keep him awake. What else did they need? Blankets! Draco was right. It was going to be awfully cold out there on the lake once night fell.

While she waited patiently for him to return, from the window she found the perfect location for their boat to rest. It was completely surrounded by several meters of water for safety, closer to the edge of the forest than to the center so that it would be easier to spot the creatures moveing from the woods. This would be a lot easier if they could borrow Harry's cloak and map, she thought, but, under the current circumstances she was not about to ask.

Draco returned eventually, just as the sun was setting.

"You took your sweet time." She told him.

"You won't be complaining when we're out there alone on that cold lake starving." He was quick to point out.

"Oh, what's the matter Draco? Don't you think it will be romantic?" she crooned with absurd affection. He snorted. The two made their way out onto the grounds without being questioned, though they received a few funny stares as they left the castle and retreated into the dusk. Once outside, the two hurried down the slope to Hagrid's cabin. There, Hermione knocked hard upon, making fang bark, as Draco gazed perplexedly at her. Hagrid swung open the door quickly, clearly stunned to see Hermione, and even more stunned to see who was keeping her company.

"Hermione!" he declared with affection. "Malfoy! What's he doing here?"

"There's no time to explain Hagrid. We need you to take us where the boats for the first years are, at once. Can you do that?" she explained quickly, out of breath.

"Of course," he said after only a moment of pause and confusion. "Let me just grab a couple things." The door swung open wide to reveal two guests sitting wordlessly at Hagrid's table with Fang. Harry and Ron exchanged a meaningful glance over their oversized tea cups. There was a moment of silence between the three friends that made Hermione feel very lonely until Harry awkwardly cleared his throat and spoke up. "Are you after the thing that attacked Neville?" he asked plainly.

"Yes." Hermione answered cautiously.

Ron took a large swig of whatever was in his giant tea cup and asked with great internal effort, "Do you need any help?"

Unable to stop herself, she bounded forward hugging them both tightly around the neck as they smiled and embraced her back.

"We're sorry Hermione." Ron offered, timid and earnest, staring her right in the eyes.

"It's alright." She sighed tearfully, though it wasn't entirely true. "What made you believe us?"

"Hagrid told us he's had attacks on most of the creatures and the centaurs are fired up. He found Neville in the forest, described the wounds. Apparently centaurs interfered. It makes sense with what happened this summer, you know." They looked at Draco, trailing off.

"He knows." Hermione informed them. "We think we know what it is, but if it is what we think it is, it was brought here by someone and we need to find out whom. We also need to lure it out of the woods to get a good at it."

Draco coughed. "Come on Hermione. We have to hurry." He announced impatiently. There was no time for the boys to shake hands and make up, even if such a thing were possible. At the last possible second, Harry grabbed her arm and pulled her to him. He hugged her tightly, pushing his face into her hair. In her ear he whispered urgently, "Neville was attacked Halloween night. We didn't find him until the next evening because his mission was secret and his body was drug into the forest. Do you where Draco was then?"

"He's right," said Hagrid grimly. "Let's go."

Harry and Ron stood. "We'll take car of the bait."

"Thanks." Hermione said gratefully over her shoulder as she stepped out the door. It shut behind them heavily as they stepped on the frosty ground. Darkness was tugging at the end of the tree line and beginning to cover the grounds. She was in a daze. So Harry and Ron's apology had been show. They still thought Draco may be at least partially behind it. This time she couldn't prove his innocence. She eyed him carefully. Why would he be helping then? She had heard of it before, people who caught fire to things to look like a hero when they put the fire out. Could Draco be doing the same thing to gain her trust? The fear she had seen his eyes had been real, his resistance not farce. Snape was right; she needed to trust Draco over her friend's baseless suspicions.

Following Hagrid's great strides, the group made it quickly to the steps from which they had entered in their first year where the boats were tied to a pier in a grotto of the castle connecting to the lake. They took one boat and untied it quickly, stuffing their things in the bow.

"Thank you Hagird." Hermione offered.

"Well that's what friends are for." He laughed. Draco took her wrist and pulled her into the boat. The wind was blowing out on the lake and stirring up the water in waves. She shivered in anticipation. It really was going to be freezing out there. She accepted Draco's arm, using it to steady herself.

"Right, well, I best be getting back. You two look after one another out there, you hear?"

"Yes." Hermione answered, pushing off from the dock. She turned to Draco who was looking down with a very worried expression stretched across his face. He looked up, realizing he was being addressed as well and they were waiting for a reply.

"Yeah." He said and then the two were being swallowed by the darkness of the tunnel leading out onto the lake. In fear and cold and silence they trembled, rowing themselves to the spot she had proposed earlier. Forebodingly, the iron gate that opened the cavern docking area to the lake lowered and clanged into place. Once they were out there, she performed a simple anchoring charm to hold them in place. However, she knew no spell to repel the wind that would not also impair their hearing, so they had to suffer it, hunched over under blankets, hoods up, scarves tied snuggling. In fact, it soon became dreadfully clear just how much they had overlooked in their rushed planning.

It was already hard enough to hear through the screaming of the wind or the howling it made through the trees, but the cloth muffled any noise the animals might make if they attacked. In addition to this, they would have to hold those omnioculars pasted to their eyes for hours if they hoped to spot anything. Being out there all night also meant they had to stay awake all night. What's more, by putting themselves out there they had ensured their safety from attack as the animals would not brave the water, but they had also trapped themselves. No matter what happened, they could not leave the lake until sunrise. Slowly, this dawned on both of them and the silence between them deepened.

Finally, Hermione sighed wryly. "I guess it wasn't so brilliant after all."

"We'll make it." Draco said, his breath fog on the icy night air.

"I can't see anything!" she growled, tired of straining her eyes into the darkness.

"I think I can help with that." He said smoothly. He swished his wand once over the water and a thousand tiny lights flickered to life on its surface. It was a remarkable sight, like fairy lights 

dancing all across the black face of the lake. It made the fog that came off it into the chilled air glow almost eerily. She took in a sharp breath as a slick smile slid over his features in triumph.

"How did you-"

"Candles." He answered simply. Still, she remained flabbergasted, not at the mystic sight, but at his gesture. It had taken thought and preparation, not qualities one usually associated with Draco Malfoy. Her mouth flopped gracelessly and speechlessly, like a fish.

"Let's warm up, shall we?" He then extracted a large bottle of sherry from his canvas bag he had brought along from the kitchens. Finally she closed her mouth and smiled, accepting the glass he held out. Was he being smooth?

"Thank you."

"You're welcome." He said with plain civility. "Hungry?"

"Famished."

"Good, me too. Let's eat." He then produced from the satchel some sponge cake, still warm. They ate if first, taking it with their sherry and savoring its warmth. Then he also handed her a turkey leg.

Draco looked pensive during their makeshift dinner, avoiding direct eye contact and not returning her grateful smiles. Harry's words of suspicion and mistrust surfaced and in the silence nothing could keep them from floating in her brain: "Do you know where he was?" He was with Pansy, wasn't he? But did she know? Could she be certain? Krum's voice now echoed in her head too: "Trust no one."

After a while, Draco began to collect and sullen air about him, and did not say a word when she thanked him for her hard boiled egg. His foul mood was infectious.

"You bring the book?" he asked a little while later, interrupting the melancholy droning of the lapping waves on the boat and the wind's shrill wintery, whistle which were the only sounds left on the water.

"Yes," she said.

"Let's read." He proposed. "Can't hear anything out here anyway." She rummaged in the bag for a while, looking for it amid the bundles of things she had brought.

"Your friends were certainly in a hurry to blame me." He voiced at last.

"They've wanted to attack you for some time I imagine. They've been looking for a fight since I accepted the proposal. They think you've stolen me from them."

"Skeeter got one thing right did she?"

"You were in the hospital the day before Neville was attacked, like they said they didn't see you. It gave them reason to suspect you I suppose. I cannot be sure those two would not have anyway. Ron always seems to jump to the conclusion that you are behind everything. He thought you opened the Chamber of Secrets. Last year, Harry obsessed over what you were doing in the room of requirement. With all that brewing and then the article to enrage them, it was a recipe for disaster. They don't like you, so of course they want to blame you; just like you blame them."

"Do I?" he arched an eyebrow aristocratically.

"'If it wasn't for Harry…' isn't that your motto?" she asked sharply, then added sadly. "And as for Harry, blaming you keeps him from having to blame himself. Neville was out there on his orders and Harry's the one who trained him in self defense. If a monster truly attacked him, Harry will have to deal with that guilt. But there's no use pretending. You two have always hated each other. Neville and I were just your excuse for fighting." She said bitterly, redirecting her attention to her meal.

"If you recall correctly, I was not the one seeking a crude fight. I have more honor than that."

"Maybe." She granted doubtfully.

"I beg your pardon." His voice hardened.

She looked at him again. "More class anyway. You would have dueled him?"

"Of course."

"Where were we?" she sighed contently at length, opening the book.

"The door had just swung open."

On she read as the Lady Madeline, put living inside her tomb, emerged and the narrator fled in terror. Meanwhile, Draco followed her every word riveted to the very last sentence which she read shuddering and teeth chattering, not from fear but the biting cold that enveloped them.

"'-there was a long tumultuous shouting sound like the voice of a thousand waters- and the deep and dank tarn at my feet closed sullenly and silently over the fragments of the House of Usher.'" He sighed thoughtfully. She guessed that meant he liked it.

"A poem then?" she too sighed. He nodded in accordance, absentmindedly. She labored against the cold to get out her favorite poem, the lesser known and mysterious "Ulalume".

"What does it mean?" he asked at the end, head cocked like a perplexed puppy as he finally glanced up at her. "Well I think-" she began, but he stopped her suddenly by pressing a finger to his lips and shifting in his seat.

"Did you hear something?"

"N-no." she chattered.

He grunted. "Must have been the wind. We're going to freeze to death out here genius. Sleeping outside like animals." He said resentfully.

She knew what was coming, and as much as she abhorred its coarseness and commonness, she welcomed it all the same. Moving close together to the center of the boat, the pair draped the over both their shoulders and hid their gloved hands within their cloaks, pulling up their scarves to cover their faces from the gales. Pressed together, through the cloth each could feel the warmth radiating off the other and their bodies soaked it in hungrily. Shuddering and waiting, they struggled to stay awake, resorting to actually talking to each other to keep from drifting off. Closely, so that the steam from their breath intertwined as they talked, they sat side by side and pondered what Harry and Ron could possibly be up to.

"M-maybe they are tying themselves t-to a tree." Hermione jokingly proposed.

"I don't think I'm that lucky." Draco joked darkly.

"Did you hear that?" her head jerked up.

"No." he groaned, bothered that she had pulled down the blanket.

It came again. It almost sounded like a particularly nasty wail of the wind, but something was off about it. Something was alive about it. The two scrambled for the omnoculars they had long ago abandoned with hopes of spotting the invisible creatures. Another snarl came, this one nearby, frightening Hermione so that she whimpered and grabbed Draco by the shoulders. Taken by surprise, he still held onto her. Embarrassed, she looked away and pushed herself of his warm chest. He clutched her arms, holding her in place. He whispered, barely audible, "Kiss me."

Indeed she would not have been sure she had heard it at all if he had not been so close that she felt his breath on her lips. Their lips accidently, just barely, brushed against each other, nerves tingling, bodies heating up, drawn towards each other, smiles threatening to stretch. She should pull away now, but she was pulled to him inexplicably like a moth to the flame. It was so dark, no one would know, even she would not be sure it had happened if she just opened her mouth half an inch further and-

"Do you know where he was?" Harry suddenly asked in her head. She came crashing back to her senses, jerking away from him.

"What's your bloody problem?" he snapped.

A sudden scream ripped through the still night air making them jump.

_**A/N:** The kiss interrupted again! I do hope at least some of you found Draco's little excursion humorous. For those of you wondering, the nundu is found in J.K. Rowling's book Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them and was not my own invention. Was it a nundu that attacked them, or something else? Whatever it was, who put it there? Let me know what you think, please. A few minutes of your day can make mine: review!_


	22. Who Was Screaming

_**A/N:** All I have to say this time is how much that I love all my readers and thanks so much for all the fabulous reviews! I have loved writing this story thus far and it would have never gone so far without you. Thanks! Now to find out who screamed…_

**Stolen**

**Chapter 22:** Who Was Screaming

The pitiless sound tore through the darkness and sent chills racing down Hermione's spine. The boat rocked when its occupants leapt in surprise and instinctively clung tighter to each other to keep from falling out, but only for a second of course. Straining her eyes through the darkness to catch a glimpse of anything that might be happening ashore, Hermione leaned forward toward land and shushed her companion. It was not long before the voice shrieking became recognizable.

"We have to help!" she squealed, turning to Draco.

"What?" he asked, dumbstruck and horrified at the thought of actually going ashore. Immediately, she unanchored the boat and was about to send it forward when his hand closing tightly around her wrist stopped her. His face was contorted in a frown, his voice asked if she was mad, but his eyes showed fear. She was ashamed of him for a moment. Of course it wasn't logical to go ashore. Of course it was likely they would be attacked too. Of course she remembered the book saying it had never been subdued by less than one hundred skilled wizards, but she, Harry, and Ron had managed. No, that had only with the help of professor Snape. Neville had been saved by centaurs. But Draco would be there and he would be another hand. They could do it. They could maybe do it. She had to try. She could not bear to sit meters away and listen to that frightful screaming any longer. Her legs ached with the memory of such screams.

She tried to tear away, but desperately he held her closer. The two began to sway the boat dangerously as they fought for control over its direction.

"We can't!" Draco shouted.

"We have to!" Hermione then pleaded. And then, the ghastly noise completely stopped.

"What happened?" she gasped breathlessly into the night. The two leaned forward toward the shore again, looking and listening for any signs of life. Overcome with sudden panic, Hermione could stand it no longer. She stood and attempted to jump into the freezing water and swim to shore. Draco yelped and grabbed a hold of her heavy cloak. The weight pulled her backwards and she landed on his lap.

"Are you mad?" he demanded yet again, holding onto her tightly.

"Harry. Ron. I have to see if they are alright." She cried.

"You'll freeze t death before you make it to shore." Unable to do anything else, Draco just held onto her, trying his best to keep her from jumping into the freezing water. Just as she was about to protest again, the wind blew and the air seemed to grow colder. Their bodies shook with the fierceness of it, their boat moved. Hermione teeth began to chatter again. She looked at Draco and noticed his hair pale hair was beginning to freeze solid, ice evident in his ethereal locks. She reached out and touched the icicles, calling his attention to it. Just as he told her, steam pouring from his mouth, that hers was doing the same and that they better get back under the blankets, they heard an unexpected crack underneath them. The boat shifted uneasily. "What was that?" he called out surprise.

Hermione jolted as the boat moved under them again. She peered down into the silent waters of the Black Lake. That is when she noticed just how very silent it had become. There was only the arctic wind whipping about them. There were no cries of agony from the land. No birds in the trees nor beasts in the forest making their presence known. Not even the sound of the waves assaulting the side of the boat. Extending her hand slowly, half expecting something to jump from the darkness and grab her, she tried to touch the water. Instead she pulled her hand back, recoiling as if something had bitten her for her fingers had touched something solid and unmoving. There were no waves; the water had utterly frozen. It was dark too; all the candles had been blown out. Their breath before them in foggy blasts conjured memories that made things startlingly clear: Dementors. Yet, she could not see them. There must be hundreds on their way for such effects to already be taking place. That explained their dramatic mood swings.

"Dementors!" she whispered urgently to Draco whose eyebrows shot upwards and eyes widened considerably. "Run!"

"Run? How do you propose I do that? I can't even walk on water, let alone-" his sarcastic question was not answered, as explaining would take too long. Rather, she grasped his hand firmly and stepped forth onto the slick ice of the lake. Sliding and falling more than once to land painfully on its hard surface, the two made their way as fast as they could back towards the gate, bags in hand. Sticking together helped them to balance on the frictionless surface devoid of any light save the narrow ones projected from their illuminated wand tips. Their hands were clasp so tightly, pulling each other along or dragging if they fell, that it hurt, but neither was about to let go. Hermione could feel it growing colder, darker. She knew that they were getting closer and it must be a throng of them. Fear already mounting tightly inside her chest, Hermione knew that if the dementors succeeded in reaching them the results would be disastrous. They were so concentrated in fact it did not occur to them until they felt the ice vibrating under their feet that this new, solid surface would allow the beasts on land they had hope to avoid access to them.

"Faster!" Draco shouted when he too sensed this, pushing her forwards and speeding up.

As if materializing out of no where, they came upon the iron gate that had been closed, and though they tried to stop themselves, the pair crashed into it unable to come to a complete stop so suddenly. Moaning in pain, they clutched their shins and then, hopelessly, the bars of the gate. There was no way in. They were trapped.

"Hermione think!" Draco pleaded, the fear now manifest in his own voice unnerving and distracting her. "What do we do?"

"Alohamora!" She shouted, directing the spell to the latch inside with all her might. It did no good, nor did the lifting spell directed at the lever on the other side. Dumbledore knew how to protect his school. There was no way in unless they blasted a hole in it through which the beasts could follow them. Coming hastily to the same conclusion, Draco shouted, "We're going to have to destroy the gate to get in!"

"No, there must be another way!" she protested, unable to think in the panic. There was a ghastly snarl behind them slightly off in the distance. Pleading, tears in his eyes and his voice, Draco hissed through the darkness, "Hermione please do something!"

That was it! Pushing him out of the way she acted quickly, melting a small hole in the ice big enough for one person to slip through. He looked at her as if to ask if she was joking, but she was to busy too to point out that her intention was perfectly clear. On the other side of the gate she had melted another hole identical to the one between them. His eyes widened in disbelief, but she paid his concern no mind.

"Quickly!" she urged him, "throw your blankets and shoes through the bars!" With that, she shoved both bags forcefully through the bars toward the other hole a few feet away. Another snarl made them gasp. The animals were getting closer, no doubt sniffing them out through the darkness. It was only a matter of time. Please, she mentally begged, don't fight me on this Draco. But it seemed he had no intention of arguing for once. He obeyed her command instantly, moving as quickly as humanly possible and readying himself to leap in the hole in the ice, bare foot and shivering violently.

From her spot, perched on the edge of the ice, she pointed her wand vaguely down into the depths and towards the gate, issuing a forceful spell that broke the metal with a sharp grating sound and shaking the ice under them. Now that they could swim through only one touch was left. She had to make sure they knew where the other hole was so that they did not become trapped underneath the ice. She cast a spell on it which bid it to glow intensely so it would be easy to find underwater and signaled to Draco to go at once. Again he obeyed with only a second of hesitation with a concerned look back at her. Unless her imagination was playing tricks on her, she could hear the creaking and moaning of the ice that meant weight was being placed on it by something not far behind. Her eyes widened, chest tightening, her breathing hitched. She did not dare turn to look behind her for she could almost feel the beast's breath upon the back of her neck, but still knew it must be her imagination as she could not yet smell its said terrible breath. She held her own breath tightly inside her chest as she squeezed her eyes shut in fear and anticipation. Mentally she counted the seconds Draco was under the water, praying he came up on the other side, that her plan worked. Intently, she watched the other hole for signs of him, waiting, and muscles tense and poised to leap in the water. One, two, three, please don't drown, four, five… The ice creaked behind her ominously. She barely contained a whimper.

Finally, Draco burst out of the water into the darkness on the other side, gasping for breath and completely colorless. Taking a deep breath, she too leapt into the water and her heart passing through the portal just in time. A vicious growl followed just above her and as she passed through the ice into the safety of the water it shuddered under great force as something large and powerful pounced on the spot where she had been seconds before.

She found herself suddenly wholly submerged in the icy lake, the shock of which was so great that she almost gasped and took in water. For a moment, she could not react or move at all. In that brief moment, as she had read dramatic temperature changes will sometimes cause, her heart actually stopped. She floated in the water like as if bewitched, movement suspended, everything frozen in time for the shortest of instants. The impact from above thrust the water, shifting her unwillingly. Then, her head felt as if she had been hit very hard by a brick and her body came alive with pain. She could not even describe the water in terms of cold, only painful. Her skin burned. It stung with the fury of a thousand bees attacking her, her muscles cramped dramatically, constricted. Her head ached and throbbed sharply. Extending her hand, she felt the rough texture of the metal bars of the gate, but running her fingers up and down them blindly she soon found that these bars were not broken. The movement of the ice as the beasts had pounced had propelled her off course and now she was disoriented in the freezing water, still holding her breath. Frantically, she searched with her hands, feeling out on either side the bars for a hole in them somewhere. As her panic grew, so did her need for air. She was reminded of the spell Draco had performed on her. Panic was her true enemy she reminded herself, trying to stay calm even in the most dire of situations. If only she could draw a steadying breath!

At that moment, her hand was pricked by something sharp. She jerked back instinctively, only to extend it again and feel the jagged edges of the bars where they had been blown apart by her spell. Hastily, she pulled herself through, cutting her calf on the protruding metal and paying it little notice. Without her own effort, her body lifted her to the surface, but something stopped her, something solid. She had hit ice. She had not come out in the right spot! But where was it? What direction did she need to swim towards? She was so disoriented under the dark water she had no idea and her oxygen supply would allow her time for only one guess. She moved left, further, and then a little further. Her hands slid against smooth, hard ice. She had guessed wrong.

She knew she had to get out quickly. Her blood was rushing to her heart, making her feel warmer, but her arms and legs were refusing to pump as she needed them. In true desperation, she pounded on the ice from below, hoping Draco would hear or feel it. Had he waited for her? She wanted to scream for help, but all she could do was slam her fists on the surface trapping her in the water, urgently, harder. Her view began to blacken; her lungs convulse trying to force her to draw a breath. She was running out of time. Where was Draco?

There was an earsplitting commotion as the ice above her head split into a thousand pieces, sharp as glass and sprayed everywhere, exposing the surface of the water. She broke it gratefully, choking and pulling herself up.

"Draco!" she called, being alone the last thing she wanted to find herself at that moment. He was near her, gasping for breath and grabbing for her. He held her cloak tightly, but it pulled her down. Fearfully, she gasped for breath, unable to propel her self up again. Then, her cloak was removed, drifting to the bottom of the lake without her. They grabbed each other tightly.

"You took long enough!" he yelled at her angrily. "Thought you had gone and drowned yourself."

"I was afraid of that too, but you s-saved me."

"You saved us both." He panted.

With all their combined strength, Hermione was able to get out of the water, grunting and screaming with the effort. Though weak and out of breath, Draco pulled Hermione up, but she immediately wished she had not emerged. The harshness of the cold air on her wet body winded her. She trembled violently, still unable to breathe properly. She had been smart earlier to leave their coats, shoes, and dry blankets on the ice. Draco covered her hastily with a blanket and jumped to his feet. "Come on!" he urged. She gazed up at him, questioningly. In reply, he glanced towards the gate a few feet away.

There on the other side two pairs of yellow orbs glowered through the darkness at them, moving backwards and forwards as their owners paced. A low growl issued from one, ominously. With amazing power, one threw itself upon the bars that rattled but did not give, snarling fiercely. Without a word between them, Hermione and Draco grabbed their things and raced to the dock towards the stone stairway that could take them to first year entrance. The ungodly ruckus behind her frightened her terribly, but she could not help but look back when a large crack vibrated the ice underneath them, causing the pair to momentarily slip. She feared the beast had broken the gates, but casting a light into the darkness revealed that they had instead broken the ice with their bounding weight and the creatures were sputtering and clawing in the sub-zero water. Their gasping and the scrapping sound of their claws scathing desperately the ice was appalling, so much so that the two covered their ears. At least one thing was accomplished. There no doubt now that their suspicions had been right. They were nundus.

Even though they were bloodthirsty beasts, she took no pleasure in watching the animals drown and freeze. She half wished they were not so dangerous and she could save them and they would leave her alone. The thought was rushed from her mind as she whipped around to face the side door in the wall through which they would find a passage to take them to the hall. The two held to each other's soaked bodies closely and Hermione felt she really understood the meaning of the words chilled to the bone. She felt none of her was dry, that there was no warmth left in her body, that she would never be warm again. She was not thinking or feeling anything, but her whole body longed for heat and soaked it up from any resource it could reach, even Draco's body. Wordlessly the sputtering couple shook violently all the way to their dormitory where they made a beeline for the fireplace and its dazzling warmth. They huddled dangerously close t it, sparks from the embers catching on their blankets. She performed a simple drying spell on the two with minimal difficulty considering her exhaustion and summoned Dobby to ask for some tea. The elf was insistent they go the hospital wing, but Hermione was insistent they did not. No one could know they had been out there or why.

When he returned swiftly, she nearly called him Knobby. What a strange mistake. She laughed a little at her silliness. A thought suddenly occurred to Hermione. She had spoken to Dobby twice since she retuned and had completely forgotten.

"Dobby," she called, as the elf brought them their piping hot tea which they gratefully accepted. "I've met your sister, Knobby." A teary smile of recognition lit up the elf's features.

"Knobby miss? How is Knobby?"

"Very well. I thought you'd like to know she saved my life."

"Little Knobby?" asked Dobby proudly, if a little taken aback. She thought it odd for the elf to call anyone little, but smiled and nodded all the same. Dobby beamed for a moment and began to cry silently as he readied their beds with warm blankets.

"She asked about you. She wanted to know if you were doing well."

"Dobby is miss!" the elf squeaked enthusiastically.

"I told her you were a friend of Harry Potter."

"And miss." He added.

"Yes," she smiled slightly. "And me. Dobby could dry out those books for me please?"

"Of course miss."

"And would it be too much trouble to ask you to fetch the things for this potion?"

"Dobby will do it miss, gladly."

"Thank you." She replied vaguely. She felt very odd, very cold, and very tried.

"How is Knobby, Miss?"

"She's fine." Hermione responded hazily, sighing.

"Granger?" Draco spoke finally. "Are you going to keel over?"

Then Hermione saw nothing but blackness and thought things were extremely nice and quiet down there, like under the waves.

She woke groggily, confused, and with great effort some time later. She smiled to find she was much warmer than before and stretched lazily in her bed, eyes still closed. That was certainly odd. She did not recall getting in bed last night or undressing, but she could feel the softness of her winter pajamas on her skin. She turned over, relishing the warmth of the bed and brushed up against something solid and also soft.

'Crookshanks,' she thought. Her eyes flew open. It could not be Crookshanks. He was the Order headquarters, far from danger. Then what was that in her bed? She did not move. This was not happening, she told herself, willing it to be true. This could not be happening, but even so as she looked down at the covers she swallowed hard to see that they were not blue and black, but black and silver. They were Draco's covers and unless she was very much mistaken that was Draco's from lying next to her. Oh why ye gods?

She could feel herself reddening and moaned dismally at her condition. Quickly regretting her outburst as Draco shifted and sighed next to her, she clamped a hand tightly over her mouth. Her expression darkened to match her pallor as she thought about her new situation. It did not take a genius to figure out what had happened. Apparently, last night she had passed out and Draco had put her in his bed and slept next to her. If it had been nearly anyone else Hermione would have been thankful that they had kept her warm and dry, perhaps saving her life. Draco, however, was far from anyone else. She let out a muffled gasp. Her clothes! The thought of him undressing her when just last night he had tried to kiss her made her seethe with anger. How dare he?

A furious Hermione Granger thrust her legs forward unison with full force, colliding with Draco's sleeping form. He grunted in pain and rolled off the bed, landing with a hard thud on the very solid and chilly floor. Looking a complete mess, hair tussled, cheeks pink, and eyes sleepy, his head popped up over the edge of the bed.

He looked very surprised at first, but when he saw that she was awake his expression grew angry.

"Did you just kick me out of my own bed?"

"Yes." She informed him.

"Why?" his voice rumbled warningly.

"What am I doing in your bed?" she asked slowly, dangerous emphasis on every syllable.

"You passed out!" he said defensively. "We were both about to get hypothermia! What was I supposed to do?" he demanded.

"Well you didn't have to undress me!" she shouted angrily. Why couldn't she keep from blushing?

"I did not remove you clothes," he all but growled. "The elf did."

"Oh."

"Oh? OH? You're welcome!" he snatched the blankets up around him and stood. "Next time I'll just let you freeze to death." He mumbled, fuming as he retreated behind his dressing curtain. Awkwardly, she did the same. Talk about jumping to conclusions. Well done Hermione, she told herself.

On her desk she found the ingredients awaiting her for the potion that would cure Neville. She went to work on it straight away while Draco was in the bathroom. With extra care she slipped in each ingredient, rereading the instructions again and again. By the time Draco emerged it was bubbling and hissing and giving off a thick cloud of smoke with a strong purple hue.

"What _are_ you doing?" he asked over her shoulder.

"Brewing this potion for Neville. It will be ready in a couple of hours and then we can take it to him. Do you have any vials? I seem to be out."

"Sure." He responded, retrieving them from his desk. "I think we need breakfast," he glanced down at his watch. "Or lunch." He corrected.

"What?" she demanded, almost dropping the vial she was holding.

"Well, it is past noon."

"What?" screeched Hermione who had never slept so late in her life. Last night must have really taken its toll. "What about classes?"

"Relax. I told Snape we were both ill, Dragon pox if anyone asked. It means we have to stay isolated until it passes as no one can really do anything and it is highly contagious.

"That was clever Draco." She observed, somewhat taken off guard.

"Don't sound so surprised." He said with some resent.

"Well, no I mean, it's just-" she struggled for words.

"Anyway," he interrupted. "What do you need next?"

"Those roots if you please," she recovered quickly, grateful for the change in conversation. Together they worked with the potion for another forty five minutes and then left it to sit next to an hour glass. Draco sighed and flopped down on the couch to recover from the painstaking work that was potion making. Once they were both seated their lunch of sandwiches appeared before them and they gobbled it up hungrily. Draco laid his head back and stretched out on the couch to relax with his morning paper for the remaining time.

"Let me know if there is anything good in there," Hermione requested, nodding at the paper. He grunted in response turning the page. Meanwhile, Hermione retired to the bathroom and had a nice hot bath. Once she was dressed and ready she came back into their bedroom to find Draco carefully pouring the potion into vials. The time had run out on the hour glass. He mentally slapped herself for taking so long in the bath. There were more important things, but, she noticed, Draco had the situation more than under control. He was a rather gifted potions maker truth be told. She was confident that they had managed to properly brew the antidote. Now, to dispense it to Neville and the nundu's other victim. That could prove a little more challenging as they would have to sneak into the infirmary and they supposedly had Dragon pox. Well, if anyone asked then they were ill and going to check in with madam Pomfrey and if Madam Pomfrey asked they would jus have to pretend it was something for the Order again. Of course this time that was very nearly the truth. They would have to cover up to hide the absence of pox. They could just say it was a cautionary measure to not spread it everywhere.

"Got it?" Hermione asked from behind Draco, hoping not to startle him.

"Yeah." He replied, sealing it skillfully and handing the vials over.

"Thank you." She offered. He nodded, holding onto vials as she tried to take them. He took a deep breath and smirked ever so slightly.

"Your hair smells nice." She actually started with surprise. Was that a compliment, a real compliment?

Cocking an eyebrow, she said the only thing she could think of: "Who are you and what have you done with Draco Malfoy?"

He laughed. Threw back his head and laughed. With equal surprise he answered: "That was funny Granger."

"Don't sound too surprised." She mocked.

Hurrying the two made their way through the strangely deserted castle. Everyone, teacher and students, were occupied in their classrooms it seemed. Outside the weather was dark and dismal. The dementors had arrived, lurking at the wood's edge. All the windows were shut tightly, keeping what little warmth could be had inside the castle walls and the stark chill outside. The pair kept an eye out on the grounds, half expecting to see creatures lunging at them again. When they reached the hospital wing, they were met by a sight quite different from what they expected.

The scene was one that instantly communicated disquiet. A group of people were crowding the doorway, hushed and pensive. The group was familiar. None of them made a move to neither block the couple entrance nor inquire as to there business there. It seemed they were too preoccupied to worry about such trivialities. There was an anxious air about them and that anxiety was evenly drawn on every countenance. Something had happened, something so dramatic and unexpected that even Hermione and Draco's unexplained presence was no cause for alarm. They were waiting, as if for a verdict, that much was palpable, but what had stumped these people into standing in a motionless, helpless horde? Professors, former Gryffindors, and a few others, including a silently weeping Cho Chang, cast them strange looks. What had brought so many worried faces together? Hermione's own brow furrowed in concern. It was soon all too clear, though she dearly longed to deny it. Mrs. Weasley, tears streaming down her face, was leaning over a boy in the bed, a boy with messy black hair. Now all the faces present were linked: Harry.

It had been Harry's screams she heard last night on the lake, though she had so hoped she was mistaken, Harry whose form these people now gathered around allowing her access while Draco lagged inconspicuously behind. Her friend was exceedingly pale, cadaverous. He gave no sign of life, no faint blush in the lips or cheeks, no gentle rising and falling of the chest. He looked so small and still, but there was not a mark on him. She gasped weakly.

"He's alive," a soft voice behind her spoke reassuringly. It was Lupin. At the bedside, a distraught looking Ron sat vigilant.

"What happened?" she asked him in a whisper. With a pained expression he managed one word: "Scar." It had not been a nundu that attacked Harry then. That explained the lack of injuries. The beasts had been waiting on the shore line for herself and Draco all along, but Harry had had one of his attacks of pain in his scar and he was still unconscious. What had caused this to happen? Usually it meant that Voldermort was near, or trying to posses his thoughts. She wanted to ask what exactly was going on, but one look around told her that they were as stumped as she was. A whimper from the next bed called her attention to madam Pomfrey.

Others cast glances that way, but none moved other than Draco and Hermione. Poppy was leaning over Neville's form fussing. She sounded, for the very first time, both lost and sad. Nothing she was doing was helping him. She had no idea what was affecting Harry in such a way. She tried desperately to clean Neville's wounds. Blood poured audibly on the floor. Neville moaned incoherently. When Madam Pomfrey shifted and revealed his face, Hermione almost gagged. He had not improved at all. In fact, he was nearly unrecognizable. It looked like he was rotting and from the mournful half-conscious sounds he was making, it was evident he felt that way too.

"Poppy!" Remus made a hushed shout. "He's getting cold again."

"I'll watch him," Hermione offered, indicating Neville. The healer nodded, overwhelmed. Once they were alone behind the curtain, from the inside of her robe Hermione slipped the vial of antidote. Her hand shook. What if it was wrong? What if that nundu was part of a plan, only what Voldermort wanted them to think? What if this potion killed him? From behind her, Draco, who had been very hesitant to approach, appeared, taking it from her. Hermione offered strangled words of comfort to her friend as Draco, with a sickened expression on his face, poured the solution down the other boy's throat. He chocked, he gagged, he spluttered, he gasped. Then, he fell utterly silent.

Hermione held her breath. "Everything alright in there?" the healer called from the other side of the curtain. Throwing fearful glances at each other, the two did not respond right away.

"Hermione? Draco?"

Neville's pale form lay still in the bed, no longer bleeding. Was he breathing? Hermione could not tell. What if is had killed him? It had to have been the nundus though, they had seen them with their very eyes. Had they brewed it correctly then? Draco had finished the potion… Draco? Had he, could he have, poisoned it? She shook her head in disbelief, horror. Just then, a wheezy intake of breath rattled behind him. Neville was breathing deeply and smoothly.

"We're fine." She choked weakly to Madam Pomfrey. "Everything's fine." Draco stared at Neville, not believing his eyes as the boy regained full consciousness. "Come on," Hermione whispered, a hand on his shoulder. "We have to leave before-"

"What's going on? What happened?" Neville's voice croaked from the bed.

"Nothing, Longbottom." Draco quickly replied. "Nothing. You're fine."

The healer popped her head around the corner, apparently coming to her senses. "You can't stay in here! You'll get him sick. Out! Shoo!" she insisted. Thankful for the excuse to leave without explanation the two acquiesced. With a sad look back at Harry, Hermione followed Draco into the hall.

So, the true nature of things had been exposed. On one hand, a friend had been saved and Draco had not poisoned him. Draco had saved her life last night as well. He had to be innocent, maybe not of infidelity but of murder at the very least. On the other hand what of Harry? What had Voldermort done to him? Had it been Voldermort getting into his head again coupled with the dementors that made him like that? He may have been acting like a jerk at times lately, but she honestly didn't know what she would do if anything happened to her best friend. She honestly didn't know what would become of anyone if anything happened to Harry now with the prophecy and all. The Prophecy- that was it!

_**A/N:** Can you figure out what Hermione just thought of? I'd love to hear what you think! Did you enjoy the action sequence or Hermione's little awkward moment? Lol. I've had that in mind for so long it was great fun to finally write! Please leave a review and I'll have another fast up-date for you. Thanks for reading! (Almost done with Part II and it looks like there will be 5 parts in all, the last one being the shortest.)_


	23. Change of Scenery

**Disclaimer: **Please see previous chapters.

_**Important A/N:**__ If anyone checked my profile you'd see that I decided to make the last chapter, chapter 22, the end of Part II (Hogwarts) in a sudden change in decision. No worries as all will still be explained here. I know thus far transitions haven't been especially clear so look below to see how the story is divided. That being said, thanks so much for your faithful reviews and I hope you like what's in store. Things are about to change… but I promise there is a lot of fun to be had. _

**Stolen**

**Part I**: **Hermione's Trap** _(Chapters 1-13)_

**Part II:** **Hogwarts **_(Chapters 14-22)_

And now… **Part III: Christmas**

**Chapter 23**: Change of Scenery

From where he was standing, Draco could see everything on the grounds of his Father's estate. While the view may not be particularly appealing to most of the manor's inhabitants, with the land covered in grey and frost bitten in the absence of any fleecy snow, it was his favorite time of year. As it sat now, everything held a mysterious fog and the frost gave a slight shimmer to all it touched. No harsh light. No sticky sweat. If dismal, it only reflected thing as they really were rather than hide them in shadow, or parade them in color. The world ought to always look like this.

Wrathfully, he kicked the soft green arm chair in his family's tea room. This was so unbelievably, insufferably, unfair! How could this be his destiny? He was supposed to sacrifice everything for the good of his entire family, be their honored scapegoat? Why him? He hated this, absolutely hated it. They wanted too much of him, they all did. She did especially, they way she looked at him, trying to figure him out, wanting to trust him. Who looked at people like that?

Hermione Granger infuriated him with her arrogant brilliance, her high and mighty compassion. On the other hand, he had underestimated her abilities time and time again, but her unexpected strength only made her intimidating and therefore made him wary. She had attacked his mad aunt, attacked him, taken up for him to her friends, and even saved him from being torn apart by wild beasts. Sure, he had saved her life as well, twice. He had to keep the status quo even. The very last thing he needed was another complication, most especially one such as being in Granger's debt.

He slammed his hand forcefully down on the table, shaking the tea tray. A man had needs damnit! If that goodie wanted nothing to do with him, then he had no choice but to find female attention elsewhere. He would get stuck with the only seventh year at Hogwarts who… She had no right to look hurt like she had over the Pansy fiasco, no right to be surprised. What had she expected? Loyalty? To her?

At first, he had thought so little of his new fiancée, but over time she infested his mind until he thought of little else. He wanted to hate her for it, but found it was no longer that simple. He sighed. Such things as simplicity were scarcely more than childhood dreams he now knew. Nothing was simple, not even plain emotions like hate and love. Sometimes they were obvious, like right and wrong, but other times, like with right and wrong, they masqueraded as each other. She was just some clever mudblood, some ridiculous Gryffindor. He could never be expected to love anything of the kind. But, it was also true that he could no longer hate her. Not now that he had been forced to spend so much time with her, had tolerated her company, grown used to her sense of humor, seen her the soft evening light that made her hair have a golden gleam and her skin look so incredibly soft he could barely contain himself.

"Draco!" his mother's voice gently exclaimed, startling him from his thoughts. She crossed the room from the hall door to embrace him and his lonely body relished her distant warmth. "Welcome home."

"Thank you mother." He smiled.

"There's someone who wishes to speak with you as soon as you arrive. I'll send her to you, shall I?" she explained formally.

He nodded, looking instantly embittered. "Come now," Narcissa Malfoy reassured her son. "It won't be too much longer now, will it?"

Again, he attempted a smile, but such thoughts no longer brought the relief they once did. "Let her in."

"Don't forget to tell her that the winter guests will begin arriving tomorrow."

"Yes, mother." Draco answered. He turned again to survey the view. Behind him a door cautiously opened. He found himself closing his eyes. He was hiding his face like a coward again, but he hardly cared. "How have you been?" he asked the figure behind him, his voice steady. A hand gingerly touched his shoulder. He turned around to take in the stunning face of Morrissa Gouge.

Hours later, Draco used a skeleton key to unlock a door on the upper hall. Once again he found himself closing his eyes, preparing himself mentally. As the door opened he was ready for anything but what followed. Hermione pounced on him. He had braced himself for an attack, his body rigid, but this, though it restricted his breathing and pinched his arms, was not an attack. Unless he was very much mistaken this bushy haired little girl was hugging him. Actually hugging him. The nerve.

He blinked in surprise and confusion. "Miss me?" he asked dryly.

"You have no idea." She sighed, laughing at the irony of such a statement. He could not help but raise his eyebrows. She was serious. This muggleborn was off her rocker. This was not at all the welcome he had been expecting considering that the last time he had seen his fiancée her expression had been very different.

It had been during the first of their mid-term exams. He had been seated several tables away, and looked back at her to catch that good luck smile she offered him. If he could just remember that little rhyme she had taught him when they studied the last few days, then he would be able to keep all the Goblin Wars straight. What was it? Oh yes, 'my mother gave me seventy-five knuts…'

As the group groaned and sweated and wept over their History of Magic exam, they were suddenly interrupted by the loud clank of the Great Hall doors being swung open. A mass of ministry officials entered behind Headmaster Snape. Every head turned, every eye locked on the officials, the armed officials. Snape spoke with Binns and Flitwick briefly. The teachers protested quietly, looking concerned. The hall was poised and hushed. Only one quill still audible scribbled across their parchment. Hermione's focus was not broken. Draco would have rolled his eyes if had not known what was about to happen. But really, did they have to do it now? Here? Like this?

Snape cleared his throat and addressed the hall, startling Hermione. Swiftly, Draco pivoted in his seat to face forward again, scowling to himself. He would look ahead or at his paper, he told himself. He would not watch what was about to happen.

"All the muggle-borns will please exit to the back of the room calmly and collectedly. We will have no unreasonable behavior, do I make myself clear?"

A hand was raised.

"Sir, aren't we going to finish our exams first?"

"Absolutely not, this is a matter of the ministry importance and of student safety. You will evacuate immediately. Everyone else will stay seated. The timer is still going." He indicated the hour glass on the podium that would indicate when time ran out for their exam.

Commotion spread across the hall faster than a darting snitch until it was ended by Snape, who said with such force it surprised Draco, "There will be no commotion. There will be no panic. There will no unseemly interruptions. Muggle-borns to the entrance hall, and muggle-borns only. Anyone found guilty of disobedience of this order will be suspended indefinitely and further dealt with by the ministry."

A din of objections and fear rose again. "Silence." Snape snarled. Silence fell.

Those who did not come quietly were drug. Draco mentally prayed Hermione would sense another force here at work, feel the importance, foresee the consequences and just obey, not make a scene. Of course he knew his luck was far too poor to ever allow it and his fiancée too stubborn. Just as he suspected, it wasn't long before he could hear her struggling; hear the officials trying to coax her to come.

"There's a good girl, come along now."

"No, but I'm almost done, just this one more line and I'll-"

"Come along!" That's when he made it, his grand mistake. He was not supposed to look back, eyes forward on his paper as he had told himself. It was the thud of the stick impacting her ribs and the painful oomph she made in response that bid him to look. Immediately, he saw her as she him. From across the sea of confused heads their eyes locked. Hers were pleading.

He was trapped, unable to move, and lost as to what he should do. Interfere and cause problems for the Order and the Death Eaters, or stand by and watch, losing her trust? There was no good choice, nothing he could do that would bring him any sort of benefit, as usual. Like a mouse in the wand light, he was quite literarily caught, unable to move but also unable to look away. He sat frozen, fear shinning in his wide eyes.

"Draco!" she called as they bodily drug her from the hall.

Just let go!' he mentally begged. 'Why do you have to fight everything?'

Her hand wriggled free. She reached for him. His eyes widened in fear. Don't ask him to do that! Don't put him on the spot like that. What should he do? His eyes darted about the room, edged away from Snape's furious glare. They grabbed her arm and made it several meters further before she wriggled free again.

"Draco, help me!"

Then, he saw it. She was crying. Why in bloody hell did she have to do that? Didn't she know how he hated that sight, tears, faces contorted in fear and anguish? Didn't she know the sound of his name being called in that chocked voice made him sick? Without thinking, he leapt forward, running towards her despite cries rising all around. Everything sped by his peripheral vision in a colorful blur. A sharp voice ordered him to stop. He hesitated a foot away. Then he grabbed her hand, tightly. She sighed in relief, smiling tearfully over her large ministry escorts' shoulders. They pulled harder, shoving him off and telling him to be a good lad and sit down. He grabbed to her coat. This time they jerked her away, hitting him hard across the jaw and he fell to the floor as his fiancée disappeared behind the doors.

Quite a few seats empty, the great hall had lapsed into a stunned silence. Draco stood before the doors, wiping his lips and panting.

"Finish your exams," Snape calmly ordered as he left, walking past Draco and grabbing his shoulder. Draco was to accompany the headmaster to his office. When they reached his the stair, the great oaf Hagrid stood outside his stairway. He offered Snape a single nod and he and the headmaster passed by him without hesitation.

"Well done." He commended as Draco took the seat across from him.

"Sir?" Draco asked, puzzled.

"The school has been evacuated of muggle borns as the ministry desired. It is their belief that the previous attacks are Voldermort's attempt to purge the school of them , as he had no doubt led them to believe. Meanwhile, they fear that Sirius Black is nearing Hogwarts and have put their dementor forces within the Forbidden forest. In reality, that is only a very convenient cover of Voldermorts that the ministry is playing directly into. The true reason that the so called evacuation was allowed by me is this and this alone: to serve as a distraction to Voldermort and the ministry alike to smuggle Harry Potter 

from the castle. It has been accomplished. What's more, thanks to you and Miss Granger, the diversion was carried out flawlessly."

"So Hermione was right," he said, mostly to himself. How is it that still surprised him?

"About?" Snape inquired.

"She said Harry falling sick, the nundu, and the dementors were all part of a plan of Voldermort's."

"Explain." He requested.

Recognizing his teacher's stern request as curiosity, he obliged. "She said the nundu was being used as bait. Voldermort knew Harry would investigate if it attacked one of his friends. It was meant to lure him outside to make him susceptible to the dementors. This, at the very least, would weaken him considerably. She said Voldermort must have been close that night for Harry's scar to react so violently. She is certain he must have an informant within the castle, perhaps one of Potter's trusted friends."

"She is very clever, this fiancée of yours."

"Unbearably."

"So she will understand? This explanation will satisfy her curiosity?"

"Yes, I believe so."

"Then I had better send word to her."

"Sir, do you believe the move of Potter away from the vicinity of the dementors will help him?"

"I cannot say at this time. Why do you ask?"

He paused, just a second too long. "Just curious." He answered. Damn. That was not the truth, and Snape feel it. He could sense that much from his former head of house though the man said nothing and his expression was as indecipherable as always. Draco was dismissed.

For the remaining days Draco spent nauseating amounts of time with his old chums. They told the same classless jokes and drank the same pints and whined about the same old problems until he was sick of them. The rest of the time he sulked, unable to study for his exams. Words haunted his would-be happiness. Even from a far that girl could ruin his fun. His thoughts, no matter what else he was doing, drifted back to that fateful conversation he had shared with her when they had left the hospital wing that day.

"The Prophecy!" she had declared in sudden understanding.

"What?" he asked.

From there she had gone into her explanation of the how the nundus were bait to get Harry close to the dementors, to weaken him. But why would Voldermort want to weaken Harry? Perhaps to fight him more easily, Draco had wondered.

"No, I think it has something to do with the prophecy. It said 'neither can live while the other survives'. We assumed, of course, it meant that in the end one would have to kill the other, that they would destroy each other. It means so much more than that!" she whispered urgently. Once confined in their room with several charms cast on the door for good measure, she divulged the secret of the prophecy, the secret Lord Voldermort most dearly wanted.

"So you see, don't you? Their life force and power must be linked. As Harry grew for eleven years, Voldermort was unable to fully regenerate. Harry is so weakened when Voldermort regains strength, and Harry's powers strengthened when Voldermort loses his. That's what made Harry so unusually powerful at such a young age, the loss of Voldermort's powers. Now, he wants to weaken Harry to discourage his opposition and give himself more power. He's biding his time, which means he's up to something. Of course, to know when Harry was outside and make sure the Ministry ordered dementors there that first day he must have both a spy high up in the ministry as well as one close to Harry. Very close." Her expression darkened and she grew quite and pensive.

His eyes were wide, but not with this epiphany. Why had she done that? Didn't she know what a horrible position he had put him in, that he could easily win himself and his family Voldermort's favor by giving him the Prophecy word for word, just as Granger had memorized it? Yet he had not. He told himself he was just bidding his time, saving this information until it was most needed and could perhaps used to perhaps save his life. Yes, that was why. His way he was covered. If Potter's side won, Hermione would vouch for him. But if he had a spy high in the ministry and one close to Potter he had an upper hand they had not known about. There was a good chance things would turn out the other way and he and his family could still come out in good standing. No smirk crawled across his face this time. He may not be smiling but he was not about to join the Potter fan club that was for sure.

After all, what sort of world would there be if Potter won the war? They'd make him a bloody king, worship even more than they did now. Squibs and mudbloods and half breeds and werewolves and probably house elves would infest Hogwarts. He grimaced at the thought, but still he did not speak to a soul about the prophecy. For now at least he had Hermione's trust and therefore the Order's protection, and if the time came that he most desperately needed it, he could win the Dark Lord's favor.

Careful Draco, he told himself, watch were your loyalties lie before trip over them. Merlin, sometimes it was hard to keep things straight and tempting to go astray from the plan. Now, to add to confusion, this nutter of a fiancée of his was hugging him.

"How's Neville? Did they get Harry out alright? What about all the other muggleborns?"

"Whoa, hold on. Let's close this door." With a furtive glance up and down the hall he shut said door. Locking it and putting a silencing charm on, they sat on her bed to discuss the state of things. Without warning, he leapt up, making her give him a queer look.

"Something wrong?" she asked innocently, sickeningly innocent.

"No," he sighed, sitting back down. "I thought you'd be angry…furious actually."

"Why would I be? You tried to save me?"

Why that presumptuous little- "I beg your pardon? I was making a diversion. Besides, with you screaming and crying I couldn't exactly play the honorable boyfriend by sitting dumbly in my chair."

"Oh." She looked so stupid when she was naïve. He smirked, pleased to see her look stupid for a change.

"Well, it's not as if you had anything to do with it, and now that I know it was just a cover to save Harry- Is he alright?"

"Don't know. I couldn't exactly go up to Weasley and ask."

"Right." She sighed.

"But Longbottom is up and at em." He told her, hoping to lift her spirits. He had been rather discouraging to someone who had had no one to talk to for over a week.

"Oh that's wonderful." Why was she so happy for him? "And the other muggle-borns,"

"As far as I know they are fine, just no longer at Hogwarts."

"Well, I suppose they'll be able to go back once Voldermort's defeated."

That was awfully cocky. He felt himself frowning. "A tad overconfident, aren't we?"

"Well not really, just a bit more now that we know how to defeat him."

"Do we?"

"Yes."

"And how exactly do we plan to do this?"

"I can't tell you just yet, but I'll need your help when the time comes. Can I- I mean, are you going to help us?"

"I'll do whatever I have to to clear my family name, like you said, when the time comes. If the time comes rather." He added darkly.

"How do I know?"

"What?"

"How do I know you will?"

Well, she was being very forward for a change. She must have spent a lot of time meditating on this in the past week she had spent alone in this room, waiting for him to return home for the holiday. "I saved your life!"

"I know you wouldn't kill me. I asked how I know you'll do what I need to help me."

Fair point really, he mentally conceded. "You don't. You have to trust me, like you chose to trust Snape. You decide your destiny by choosing the people you trust. But there's something to be said in that I haven't sold the prophecy to Voldermort or let you die or poisoned Longbottom. If I wanted to betray you, I could have already."

"Fair point really." She answered, still unsure. At least they had a bit of honesty between them. A bit.

"We're going to have guests." He suddenly announced.

"Goodie." She responded with sarcasm.

"Family mostly."

"Even better." was her sour response. He ignored it.

"They will begin arriving for the holiday tomorrow. You are to stay in your room unless with me, and out of sight of them at all times, until our family dinner. Understand?"

"Yes, master Malfoy." She teased.

"You better be nice to me, Granger, if you plan to see the light of day anytime soon." He warned.

"Remember I taught you how to ski."

"You taught me how to fall down a hill with planks of wood strapped to my boots." He snapped, standing up. She laughed. He remembered that afternoon on the grounds while everyone thought the had Dragon pox so they had to lay out of school. That hadn't been too awful, all things considered. He had taught her to ice skate. Now that was hilarious considering she had all the grace of a mountain troll.

"The elf will bring you your food."

"Will you eat with me?" she too stood. It took a minute to answer. He had not expected that.

"That desperate for company?"

"Obviously."

"I can't. We have guests."

"I thought you said your family didn't start arriving until tomorrow."

"They don't, but this isn't family. It's politics."

"Oh."

"Precisely."

"Then where will you say I am?"

"Under the weather. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Take me outside?"

"I suppose." She stopped him as he was leaving. Why did his shoulder react like that? He hadn't been expecting that touch. That was it. With a sly smile that somehow rather fit she got closer.

"I know you missed me a little bit somewhere deep down." She teased.

"You think so Granger?"

"I do." She answered with somewhat less confidence.

"Don't count on it." He scoffed, and then added. "Well maybe I did, a tiny little way, way down. I probably just missed that kiss." He licked his lips suggestively.

"What kiss?" she looked puzzled, almost blushing. God that was hilarious when she blushed like that.

"Exactly." He jibed, shutting the door sharply behind him.

If she would just go ahead and kiss him he might shut up about it. What was the big deal anyway? The girl acted as if she had never been kissed. Of course there was a possibility that she hadn't. He could certainly teach her a thing or two if that was indeed the case. Or maybe she was holding out on him again. Whatever her reason, the resistance made him curious, not to mention he enjoyed annoying her with it, making her blush. She almost looked cute when she blushed. Almost.

_**A/N:**__ Well, I seriously hoped you liked it. The plot has definitely thickened. As for the change in point of view, it was planned long in advance. I'd like to know how you felt about it. It's not permanent. During this part there will be shifts back and forth from chapter to chapter, but never two in the same one. On the one hand you will certainly see more of Draco and his thoughts this way, and what those Death Eaters are up to… On the other hand you may not like what you see of that gang… Just between us, Part III was my favorite part to write, so I hope you all keep reading and reviewing! Thanks!_


	24. Necessary Kindness

**Disclaimer:** Please see previous chapters.

_**A/N:**__ Sorry this chapter took a while. Quite a lot of work went into it and I wanted to make one particular scene as perfect as possible since we've all been awaiting it for some time. I'm not sure, to be honest, how I feel about how it turned out, so please let me know what you think in a review! Thanks to all who read, reviewed, and waited patiently for an up-date. _

**Stolen**

**Chapter 24:** Necessary Kindness

Salmon; now that was certainly a nice change. Salmon was one of her favorite meals and this was very good salmon, excellent in fact. Hermione had to say that it was the best salmon she had ever tasted, perfectly cooked, just the right amount of seasoning. It all but dissolved in her mouth as she devoured it alongside her imported Alaskan salmon berries, fresh as if they'd just been plucked from the vine, even moist and cool. They were orange, shaped like a blackberry only larger and more engorged. The glossy spheres exploded with juice that was mild, both sweet and tart. She moved on to the poached eggs.

While her meal may have been satisfying, her conversation with Draco had been far from it. She had hoped that once he came home she would regain what few liberties she had been allowed in this house during her first visit. Apparently, she was mistaken. She was to stay put in her room as she had been for over a week now and when he had informed her of this it took all she had to keep from crying. It was odd how one could go days without feeling the need to go outside, but if one was suddenly locked up their sole desire became the fresh air. She felt that need now and pinned for that taste of freedom. Although she had lamented her restrictions at Hogwarts, compared to the manor at school she had been completely free.

Now her existence was cramped into an equally lonely, tasteful room. She was literally sick of the place, every inch of it. She hated the Malfoys for her imprisonment, blamed them for her boredom and loneliness as days passed without a soul to talk to. At last, her fiancée had arrived and she had been so happy to see him, surprising both of them. It wasn't Draco's face that lit her own, but what his reappearance at home had meant: she would be free again.

Alas, that was not to be, she once again reflected, sighing. She would continue to take her meals alone in her room and only leave the confines if she was with him. Her tongue stayed in place for once and not made trouble; she would take what she could get. She'd breathe fresh air tomorrow and at least she was eating as fine of food as they were, rather than the sandwiches and tea that had been delivered to her at meals times the past week. She guessed Draco may have had a hand in that, so she wasn't about to blame him for all her troubles the moment he arrived. He'd be in no mood to be with her tomorrow if that were the case.

After all, none of this was his fault. He did not order muggle borns from the school, nor refuse to let her finished her exams, nor drag and strike her before an entire hall of people, humiliating her. In fact, he had tried to help her, actually went after her. Of course, she had put him on the spot and she knew how unfair that had been, that he had not really had a choice then. However, in his eyes, besides dread and embarrassment and shock and conflict, she had glimpsed something else. Draco may have wanted muggle borns purged from the school, but even he thought it was unfair to keep her from taking her exams. Nobody felt more strongly about exams than Hermione Granger, not even those that mandated they be taken and she as much as anyone else deserved to take them. He saw nothing wrong with banishment or humiliation, but in her case what they had done had seemed cruel, even to him. Secretly, she had been impressed with him then. Just when she was about to give up hope, concede that he was a cowardly and selfish creature, cold and indifferent to others suffering, he changed her mind. Now, if she could only magnify that understanding, that empathy, she may actually help make him into a man capable of compassion.

He was fascinated by her caring for creatures and people he saw as below him, but if she could show him they were creatures of feeling and thought, perhaps he may see cruelty there as well. Perhaps, if she could show him sympathy and consideration, he may become curious enough to return it. Then again, maybe not. For now at least it was her plan of action. She would simply treat him as she wished to be treated. She'd have to be decent, show kindness. Itt couldn't be too painful, she mulled.

The last thing she expected was for Draco to need no prompting.

"You ready?" a familiar blonde head popped in her doorway, jerking her from her thoughts.

"Ready for what?" she asked in earnest surprise.

"I thought you wanted to go outside. We're going for an evening walk." He smiled and slipped out. Even as she scrambled for shoes and a coat that familiar thought crept into her head: stop, don't, wait. That proverbial chill told her all was not well, but she went anyway. Inexplicably, she went like a moth drawn to the flame, unable to resist its seductive luster. Rather unexpected this courteously of taking her out that very evening, but as long as she was getting out of that room she hardly thought to complain.

They slinked out the back onto the stony paths edged by hedges no longer embellished with colorful flowers, but covered in frost. The grounds of the Malfoy estate were dim and foggy as they wandered around the bare trees from which the very last their autumn leaves were tumbling to the icy ground. As the earth crunched under their boots, Hermione noted the sound seemed louder in the quite of winter. In fact, the entire garden seemed a different place. What had once been bursting with color and bustling with life and become still, hushed, and chilled. Everything seemed lightly coated with white or grey. The evergreens were dark as ever, bold and vibrant, as if protesting the clandestine attitude of the rest of place. Her breath puffed out before her as they walked. She could taste the fresh air-she had never noticed that before- and it was sweet. She breathed deeply although its cold was almost stinging.

"Rather gloomy isn't?" she was about to ask to make small talk, but Draco seemed oblivious to this aspect. He soaked in the cold, the colorlessness, the quiet of the winter garden. To her, it looked dead, but to him it was somehow inviting, mystical even. Who was this strange man she was engaged to be married to who enjoyed thunder storms and shadowy winter gardens? This was not the Draco Malfoy she had pictured.

That boy lived in a cold, marble mansion and thought of nothing but himself, longed to be in the center of attention but never the center of trouble. This boy was different. He thought that a little bit of trouble, such as sneaking into the school kitchens, was exciting; so he was not a total coward. He liked more privacy than she would ever have guessed and appreciated the quiet as well. His house was as large and lavish as her wildest dreams, but as much a home to him as the burrow was to the Weasleys. It may not be the one she would prefer, but for him it was home nonetheless. His life here was easy, simple, planned out neatly and respectably for him. The rules were clear: hate anyone below you and do as your father says, want for nothing. His life was comfortable and he liked it that way, loved his family even. _He_ had no reason not to after all.

But how did someone with such a comfortable life come to love things covered in gloom and be utterly seduced by the fiercest of storms? 'Just when you think you have someone figured out,' she mused. 'Then again, how can you ever really know a person? Harry's father and Sirius had never really known Peter Pettigrew, never thought him capable of what he did. Likewise, they had never really known Snape either, known what good lay hidden inside of him.'

She knew Harry though, didn't she? And Ron? They knew her, right? Just then, something occurred to her this new idea brought forth. It hit her like a cold wind on the back of her neck: she did not know Draco. What was she thinking? It was dangerous not knowing him.

Was she really thinking that? Did she really want to get to know Draco Malfoy? He was bitter and arrogant and pigheaded, but there was no denying he was also intriguing. How could she possibly hope to change something she did not understand? But would he ever stoop to knowing her? That's when something marvelous occurred to her, the answer to a question most people her age and much older struggle and agonize over.

'How do I know what he thinks?' she asked herself and Hermione's logical self was kind enough to answer with the very simple reply: ask him.

"Draco," she blurted, instantly regretting it.

"Hmm?" he answered watching his statue of Horace the eagle very closely as if at any minute it may take off and soar away.

"I think- well, I think I'd like to get to know you. We should get to know each other…you know?"

"Get to know me Granger?" he scoffed. "Are you bonkers? We've been living together for the past several months, known each other for years, we're engaged for Merlin's sake and you wan to get to know me? What are you talking-"

"No, know _you_. You. You know, who you really are, not just whatever you're pretending to be for now."

He shook his head in what may have been either confusion or disbelief. "I've spent more time with you than anyone else besides my family, unless you count Crabbe and Goyle which I don't because even together they don't have half you're a brain compared to you. You've been trying to figure me out since day one," he said, leaning of the fountain pool side. "If you can't do it then I guess I'm in trouble."

"You mean you don't know who you are?"

"What do you mean? I'm a Malfoy, a Slytherin, a pureblood, a dashing young man, a wizard. That's who I am."

"A person is more than just their titles. I'm not just a mudblood and Gryffindor."

"Then what are you?" It was not an insult, or was not intended to be, she could tell.

So she answered, dumbly "I'm Hermione, just Hermione. Don't you even want to get to know me a little? I mean we are to be married after all."

"I know you, Hermione." He responded as if talking to someone very daft.

"Do you?" she answered smartly.

"Yes. You're a bookworm," he began.

"Yeah." She laughed. "But that's not all of me either." How did people miss all that there was behind that nose buried a volume?

"True. You're also a fair dueler."

"I suppose." She nodded modestly.

"Champion of equal rights."

"Hope to be." Don't blush Hermione. For Merlin's sake, he's only said a couple nice things! Not even nice really, decent maybe.

"Let's see, what else? You are horrible at skiing and ice skating, a compulsive knitter, a loyal friend, a teacher's pet,"

"I am not a teacher's pet!" she objected heartily.

"Whatever. Perfectionist. Do gooder."

"Ooh." She fumed.

"Muggle born. Sensitive. Naïve."

"Leave it to you to say that-"

"Brave when you feel you have to be. Compassionate." The last word looked like it caused him pain, but he was firm on it. "See you're not the only one doing their homework. I've been paying attention too."

"So what about you?"

"What about me? You're just Hermione and I'm just Draco. What else do you want to know?"

"Who are you besides a Slytherin and a Malfoy and pureblood and a teenage boy?"

"That is me."

"Not all of you."

"If you say so." He said frowning, turning to walk on. Without his eyes on her she was able to ask.

"Which part of you likes thunderstorms?" He stalled, his back to her unmoving. "Is that the same part who likes winter, who likes Poe, who taught me to ice skate?"

"Or tried to," he recovered from his shock with laughter at her expense. She ignored it.

"It seems like you surprise me every other day." She continued. "I just want to be able to tell the difference. Show me what you like to do." It was a business like request, polite, genuine, but not pleasant.

"You want to see what I like?"

"I guess." She answered, not quite so sure anymore as she stood in the cold, trembling.

"Alright Granger," he said with an air of seriousness she did not feel was quite appropriate. "Have it your way. Tomorrow you and I will spend sometime getting to know each other." He smiled mischievously.

"Alright." She agreed. It wasn't as if she could say she had other plans now. The two continued on their walk under the moonless and overcast night sky. They encountered not a soul. "Where are all your animals?" she asked, checking over her shoulder, experience telling her one couldn't know what they might bump into out there.

"It's cold out. They're trying to keep warm aren't they? Merlin, I thought you were clever. What's the matter?" he asked observing the way she looked over her shoulder. "Scared something might leap out at you, Granger?"

"Well, you do have a bear."

"I told you he's harmless. You look affright. Hold on to me Granger," he mocked dramatically. "There's danger lurking around every corner. Maybe right...here!" he shouted and jumped towards her, grabbing her by the arm. In spite of herself, she yelped in surprise and they both laughed. As their laughter fell on the cold air and dissipated the silence that followed made both glance oddly about. Their hands felt awkward; as if they were suddenly made aware they had these body parts and did not know what to do with them. The empty space between their heavily clad forms was almost tangible. Neither spoke for a second. Then, Draco moved forward, ending the moment.

A light snow began. Large flakes wafted down and caught on their hair and eye lashes. They threw glances at one another and, catching sight of each other doing so, turned away and redirected their attention. Against the black sky, the small white dots looked somewhat like thousands of stars falling out of the blackness of space and gently gliding to earth, Hermione reflected. She did not share her observation. Draco was not one for romantic thoughts like that and he would surely laugh and put her in a foul mood. Their walk did not last long, as both of them were tired and freezing. Soon, the pair arrived back at the door through which they had come. Wordlessly, they removed their boots by the fire and returned to their rooms together. They reached her door first and glanced over her shoulder as she moved forwards to unlock it, thanking him shortly and bidding him a polite goodnight. She felt a hand lightly take her elbow and she turned to see Draco's face close to hers, his cheeks looking as red as hers felt from moving from cold to the warmth of the house. Lightly his lips brushed her said red cheek making them redder as he bid an obligatory goodnight as well and continued on to his door without so much as missing a beat.

It was just a peck, a meaningless gentlemanly notion. He had not even smirked. What on earth had possessed him though? She remained at her door, frozen in mid motion, door half opened, mouth equally so wondering just that. It seemed for once in her life Hermione Granger's brain had turned itself off.

It became increasingly clear that once he discovered his unique ability, Draco's new favourite pastime became annoying and puzzling Hermione. He would sit back and grin as her head spun 

in confusion and if she could have only put her finger on just what he was up to she had a strong feeling she could have punched him for it. Hard. Again.

The next few days passed quickly for Hermione as she had so much more to do than the in the previous week. She recorded in her diary every suspicious bit of Draco's behaviour, but could surmise nothing productive from it. He was at least being nice, other than the usual teasing her of course which was to be expected from anyone she supposed. It wasn't much, just necessary kindness, but it was enough for a change.

His hands moved over hers gently, with care, as he instructed her on how to hold a falcon. He explained how one was to get them used to one's presence first so it took days of visiting and a few nervous, fidgety introductions to the birds before she was allowed to handle the prize animals, and though she was honoured she couldn't say she was particularly enthused. He told her skilfully how to touch the backs of their legs to get them to step backwards onto your hand. He let her hood one with a little leather hood with the Malfoy crest branded into it. She laughed at how funny they looked until he explained the significance of it. The raptors' senses were so acute that their intake of stimuli needed to be limited to keep them calm and focused. She was then grateful as it was primarily the reason it wasn't attacking her and pecking her eyeballs out. He then explained the different types of falcons they had, and even a brief history of falconry. Although it cannot be sure when and where it began because it has been around for so long, it is believed to have been a sport since at least 4000 B.C. It flourished everywhere from China and Japan, to Arab nations and across Europe. Emperors from Rome and the Far East practiced the art as well as many famous king and queens of England, like Queen Elizabeth I. It was very popular in the British Isles, brought there by the crusades. Today, though not as well known, it is still practiced by high classes of nearly every country. In some places, they are said to use eagles large enough to catch things like deer, wolf, and there were rumours of even tigers. She was fascinated, soaking it in, and it was obvious he relished being the one who was doing the tutoring for once. He knew the terms-feak, varvel, crop, crines, and mantle-and soon so did she. At least she was learning something, if not from her beloved Hogwarts. He smiled rather than smirked, and even though his tone was pompous she had to say it was an okay change.

Falconry, however ancient and prestigious a practice, was barbaric in her opinion. She had no desire to see the bird, however graceful, swoop down upon a rabbit or ferret or another bird and kill it. She had even less desire to watch the winged beast tear apart its bloody lunch in the cabin. Draco was fascinated, not minding the blood dripping, the face of the dead little animal lulling lifelessly as its body was ripped it to shards, nor the tearing sound it made. It made her sick to her stomach, but Draco loved it the power in these majestic creatures. The birds, although intimidating, were impressive to watch, their sheer speed and agility. Their eyes had thought in them, startling intelligence, but were also piercing- and those talons and sharp beaks!

Draco's father's bird was a smaller bird of prey, Hermes. He was the speediest and of the traditional breed of Merlin (with blue tongue and mouth as Draco showed her), while the larger, Ares (Draco's falcon), was the black and white Gryfalcon. Despite the nervousness and the intolerable teasing, the afternoons passed nicely in the wood.

They took tea in the green tea room alone. Hermione scanned the paper for hints of Order business, dissecting all the rumored bits about Harry's condition. Draco enjoyed the view, his unicorn and falcons gallivanting in the chill air as it seemed to animate them more than ever. Lunch and dinner she took alone, him with his family. To be honest, he seemed grateful for the company. She supposed being an only child he had mostly had to entertain himself and now whenever he wanted to share something with someone or got bored he had only to call on her and she would happily go along with whatever to escape the confines of her room for a while. He was well aware of the power he had over her, but was smart enough not to abuse it for the most part. For that, she was thankful; although, admittedly, she did harbor some resentment towards being at his beckon call. At times, she felt like a doll, put on a shelf and forgotten until he got an urge to take her down a play with her. Each day however, she got her wish. She began to open her eyes in understanding of what Draco's life was and had been.

One day Draco was in a sour mood as his father had insisted he help train the pups. Apparently, the Malfoy family bird dogs were not just for looks. These English pointers were of purer blood than the Malfoy's themselves, well known for their champion heritage and success in fox and bird hunts. Such well-bred and well trained dogs were a commodity highly sought after amongst pureblood family circles. The dogs were trained on the premises and Draco's father passed down the knowledge and right to his son. Draco begrudgingly headed out to do his duty with Hermione in tow. The puppies were incongruously cute and soft. Hermione, who had prepared herself for a terribly boring afternoon outside in the cold among dogs snapping at her heels, was pleasantly surprised with a good time coddling the pups Draco was not working with. Rather than see him be cruel to the litter, she was profoundly astounded to see he was nicer to the dogs than to most people. It was with patience and skill that he instructed them, throwing scented balls and dangling a scented knot at the end of a lure. With a steady hand he ran his fingers along the tail, making their point more defined. Each time they did he offered them praise and a treat, laughing at their cute, lumbering trots and repeating the process over and over again. She had never seen him so focused, so dexterous, so patient, or so pleased. Again, he explained the working of the trade he knew so well like a master illusionist finally spilling his most enthralling secrets. So he had that smug pride permanently cemented to his face? Where was the hurt in that? They were the best after all and he made them that way. He had a right to be proud of something as much as anyone else.

He smiled at her then, and she smiled back. It was simple, innocent, but it was nice. By the time they got back inside they had missed supper, so they decided to retire to their rooms and order up some food from house elves. At Hermione's door they began to part ways as usual when Draco's arm stopped her, but instead of an abrupt kiss on the cheek, he asked softly and -dare she say it- somewhat bashfully, "Care to join me?"

"Me?" she asked, eyebrows jumping upwards. He certainly was unusual.

"No," he rolled his eyes. "The idiot behind you." She scowled.

A half hour later the two were on the couch in front of the fire with a blanket covering their legs from the growing chill. On the table where their stew and fresh bread bowls had been the wireless radio sat next to an empty tray. The two sat quietly for a while listening, commenting now and then to make nice conversation, to keep the moments from becoming awkward. She felt unusually and exceptionally relaxed and felt no need to do anything, no need to speak except to be courteous. However, that condition was not entirely naturally induced.

She had known better then to do it, but the worry over Harry (word was he wasn't doing well), Draco's confounding behavior, and the news that all of the guests would have arrived by tomorrow night combined to put her it what had to be called 'one hell of a state', as Draco so elegantly put it.

"Not a drop, thank you." She had told him at once when he first offered her the bottle, but as time passed and he seemed to unwind so nicely she thought a little wouldn't hurt, and once she had some a little more would not kill her. Mostly, she had tried it because he had dared her and she was not about to be outdone by a Slytherin. It would be a disgrace to her house. The good stuff, or so it was referred to as, burned going down, not sharply stingingly but like something molten and hot running down her throat. It wasn't half bad, truth be told, and the after taste was not as coarse as wine. Ogden's firewhiskey: there was a reason the man was rich.

Hermione Granger was by no means drunk, but she had had a drink and it had done her good, or so Draco informed her. According to him she didn't look like a rabbit getting ready to dart anymore. He wasn't even trying to take advantage of her. In fact he barely seemed to notice she was there. Casual, proper conversation turned more genuine as the night went on, but nothing intimate arose. Once it got very late, a mystery radio show Hermione had never heard of came on the two listened intently, enjoying themselves. But soon Hermione found her eye lids dropping and her attention waning even though the story emitting from the wireless was suspenseful. A hand absentmindedly rubbed the back of her arm and she looked up sleepily to find that she had been leaning into Draco for some time. When did that happen? Oh well, it wasn't hurting anything she supposed. It was surprising to her that he had not protested the closeness, but then again they were both very comfortable.

That hand was annoying though. It was stroking her arm so lightly that it raised the skin almost into goose pimples. Still she did not pull away even when soothingly the hand began to press its nails into flesh, scratching softly. It almost tickled. For a while, all her concentration was on her the broadcast to which she was listening, but steadily her attention was utterly captivated by this strange and thrilling sensation caused by a nonchalant touch. How could so little a touch arose so much in her body? That particular word triggered the blurrily, haphazard realization of what was truly happening. Arouse.

With a small gasp she instantly responded to his cool hands now rubbing her back and side where the shirt had slid up a little. Her own hand, which she came to find, was resting on Draco's chest, moved of its accord into a clenched fist, scratching his torso. Though no one uttered a word, but he his body reacted immediately, as if by magic, arching into the touch before she could apologize.

Hermione, who had never found herself endowed with any graces that could effortlessly elicit such a response in most young men, found herself grinning secretly with pride for a single graze had rendered her powerful, and she liked it. She enjoyed the effect she could have on a man as much as she enjoyed the effect he was having on her, though she dared not admit either. Gradually, as the contact intensified almost imperceptivity, Hermione became more and more surprised at her response. Their strokes became more vigorous or suggestive as hints of passion began to peak through. Her heart fluttered with nervousness as if she had mounted a threstral, knots tied themselves in her chest and she shivered as the feelings swelled and crashed over her, giving no indication outwardly that any of this was happening at all. Her attempts at concealment only made it more enticing until she could ignore it no longer. Quite suddenly, she made the connection that the hand that was teasing her skin, was not just a hand, but Draco's hand and the body she was light pressed against was his.

They had not been facing each other, only barely touching and leaning into one another under the blanket, staring into the flames and listening to the program. So how had it managed to be so proactive? Unnerved, she moved away, sitting up abruptly. Draco made no move to ask her if she was alright, no move to rejoin her. Indeed, he stayed in his comfortable position as if nothing had happened. She felt wrong. She felt sick. And yet, she wished- no, her body wished- that hand would rub her shoulder again and she could sink into him and feel that sensation again. She felt hungry for it.

'Move away, Hermione,' she mentally told herself. 'Quick before you're tempted to-'

Amazingly, as if reading her mind, Draco did reach out to her. It was a comforting rub, like a massage, on her shoulder. He was going out a limb, she knew, offering himself up for rejection and admitting he wanted it continue.

All thought literarily flew from her mind as she was seized by selfish impulse. She laid back on him slowly, carefully a more purposeful position than the innocent first. This time she was nervous. The show on the radio played on as they continued their newest secret game. It was an elaborate, unspoken game of dares and teasing as hands glided over, scratched, and rubbed easily accessible flesh soon bravely dipping just under shirts. Both felt themselves grow warm and lean into touches. Both tried with increasing desperation to restrain themselves from making sound, quell their thumping hearts, steady their breathing that sporadically poured in soft gasps and barely concealed moans. It continued throughout the mystery show in the wireless and well into the next one, but she was no longer really listening, only pretending to, catching a word here and there. Bodies began to shift into more fitting positions accommodating each other naturally until they were no longer just close but overlapping in places and wrapped together in others.

She was possessed by some force that had laid dormant in her. What was she doing? She no longer cared nor looked to see where this was headed. This was too exciting, too thrilling to neither rush it nor cease it completely. She did not dare continue but could not bear to stop it. His hands were both on her now, one still working her back and side while the other's fingers brushing through her hair, along her face, across her lips. Her heart pounding and stomach quivering, she dipped back her head until their faces were so close breath grazed one another's neck, setting the spot on fire. She fluttered her eyes lashed in spite of swearing to never do such a thing and she could feel the chills run along his skin. As she moved her head into the crick of his neck to inhale his smell her nails dug in slightly and the smallest of wet kisses was planted right on her collar bone. She had to bite her tongue to keep from gasping, but despite what her mind told her to do her body did not let her speak a word of protest. She had lost control.

She moved her head up again and their faces were close together. That made her gut drop. A cold dose of reality. That was Draco's Malfoy's face before her, his hands lingering on her stomach, his warm lips barely rubbing the corners of hers. She saw them move, they almost met, and then she went cold. He could not play this any longer. It was getting too dangerous. She turned her head sharply. She felt him hesitate, insulted or hurt. With great effort she pushed herself up, leaving him confused for a change. This time he followed her.

"What's wrong?" he asked simply. Emotion that had left temporarily left her body in place of hormones flooded her. Hermione shook with contained anger. She looked at him coldly. He tried to read it, but she rose to leave. She was furious with him. That pig! A hand touched her arm, but rather than seducing her, it disgusted her. She did not pull away, but did not respond.

"It's alright, Hermione," he said in a pathetic attempt at comfort. "It's no big deal," No big deal? No big DEAL? Maybe it wasn't for him and what did that make her to him?

"Ooh!" She exclaimed under her breath as she turned, fuming. "Neither is this." She said cold and collectedly as she spun on her heel and left, the door slamming behind her.

_**A/N:**__ Well, one step forward, two-steps back again. This chapter was the bit of Dramione time I was talking about. Yes, that was a bit risqué and unexpected, but sometimes such things happen when you coup two good looking teenagers alone together. What was your favorite part? Your least favorite? Now to hear from Draco and that family Christmas dinner… I hope you liked it half as much as I liked writing it. Don't forget to review! _


	25. No Big Deal

Disclaimer: Please see previous chapters.

A/N: Thanks so much for your response to the last chapter! Now, back to where we left them to see what Draco's thinking...

**Stolen**

**Chapter 25**: No Big Deal

Well that just figures, Draco said to himself as his door slammed shut abruptly. What a silly, little, mudblood, Gryfindor girl! That's Granger for you: act perfectly normal one moment and then freak out the next. That girl is not all there, he concluded.

Pushing him away was she? Who did she think she was turning him down like that, Draco Malfoy? After all the time he had spent with her, taking her out the first night, taking her everywhere, eating with her every day. He'd been nice for Merlin's sake- actually nice. She's the one who said she wanted to get to know him and he had tried at least to let her do just that. She'd been all too happy to do anything he wanted, very agreeable for a female, until he had come up with idea of getting to know each other in _another_ way. Despite what he was certain she thought, it had not been planned. Shocked, that's what he'd been when she'd accepted his second offer of firewhiskey. He supposed it had something to do with his taunting about cowardice. She was too easy to read.

He had hardly noticed he was touching her until he felt her react to it, clawing softly at his chest like that. What was he supposed to do then? Sure, she'd enjoyed it at first, played along. Then she'd gone all funny, but she'd gotten over it. One wrong move and she became suddenly furious. It was weird the way she menacing when angry. He was no stranger to dangerous women, larger and madder than Granger, but she had made him take a step back when she had snapped at him. Maybe it was because he had fought her, seen her lose her temper before, and he had no desire to be on the receiving end of that again. She had been rude too, refusing to kiss him. It was plainly disrespectful. What did she think; she was too good for him? Overdramatic little…

He'd have none of her sourness tomorrow that was for sure. He had shopping to do anyway as it was. She'd just have to be sulky and resentful all by herself. She'd better behave at dinner in the evening, or he'd be the one to pay for it later. If he was he'd make sure she paid for it too.

All the family would be there and he wanted to look good, impress the lot of them. His father wanted that too, that's why he'd insisted Draco be back before five o'clock. That way he'd have more than enough time to get ready to make their appearance. Unfortunately, he had not been able to talk his mother out of accompanying him of his Christmas errands and what's more, she had further insisted on bringing along that girl. He had hoped to have some time for himself. With a heavy sigh he knocked on Granger's door, dressed to go out on the town.

She opened it, looking at him in surprise. "A bit over dressed for going outside aren't we? She asked with a critical eyebrow raised as she surveyed his tasteful attire. She had apparently already begun her snotty campaign for the day.

"You won't be needing that." He said indicating the coat she carried. "I'm going to be away for the day, Christmas shopping."

"In London?" she queried.

"Yes."

"Shall I dress? I'll only be a minute."

"That won't be necessary."

"Well I can't go into London dressed like this!"

"It won't be necessary because you won't be going."

"Oh." There, he grinned smugly, that would teach her to assume, take his kindness lightly.

"Mother and her guests will be accompanying me. I'll be back in the evening around five to prepare for our family dinner which you will be attending. Do try to look nice Granger. Father wants us to make a good impression on the family and as you are mud-muggle-born they'll be looking for any excuse to find you substandard."

"I'll _try_." She replied resentfully, putting bitter emphasis on the word 'try'.

"Good. I'll see you at a quarter until eight o'clock tonight."

"Draco," she said softer.

"Yes?"

"I wonder, since you are going into town, if you'd mind maybe picking up a few things-"

He did not allow her to finish. "Let's get one thing straight Granger. I am not you servant. I am not here to entertain you or run your errands."

"Of, of course n-not-" she stammered, taken aback.

Interrupting her again, he sneered, "I have tried to extend certain _courtesies_ toward you it's true, but I am not required to take you everywhere I go, cater to your unpredictable and unreasonable moods, nor pick up your bloody shopping list."

"I know that! I didn't ask you to. I only thought since I'm not allowed to leave this place you might pick up a few of my Christmas things or I'll have no Christmas presents for anyone, including you."

"I didn't ask you to get me anything for Christmas!" he shouted.

"I know," she said, puzzled. "Who asks? I was just going to."

"You were?" he shouted, confused.

"Because it's Christmas." She informed him as if he were daft. He could not feel insulted. He was too shocked and she was at a loss to why. A total loss. They were on different sides of the world, though only inches from one another, he knew. Even though she was angry, they had discussed nothing of exchanging gifts, and they didn't even really like each other she was planning on getting him something for Christmas, just as she had gotten him a birthday present. It wasn't out of guilt, or to win his trust. She just really didn't think people should go without presents on their birthday or Christmas. Crazy Gryffindor.

He masked his softening demeanor with heavy sarcasm. "Oh, and did it never occur to you to ask me to take you Christmas shopping later?"

"Well, no. I didn't think you would."

Now, there was an idea. "Well I might just do that, if your behavior tonight leaves me so inclined."

"And if not?" she asked.

"Send for your things by mail."

"They won't arrive here in time."

"Then I guess you're counting on tonight," he said through clenched teeth. "As am I."

"Alright Draco." She sighed, agreeing to his terms. Legendary smirk fell back into place. "And don't even think about leaving this room today while I'm away."

"Oh really?" she asked, scoffing testily. That girl really did not like being told what to do.

"Yes, really. It's not safe."

"And what shall I do all day?"

Wheeling around to face her once more he shouted, "That is not my concern as I told you before! You think just because I've been nice I'm here for your entertainment?"

"No I don't think that way at all. For days it I who have been at your beckon call, doing whatever you want, getting to know you. I thought we were just spending time together. I thought we were having fun!" she napped, tearfully.

"So did I!" he spat back. Adjusting his gloves haughtily, he became suddenly calm, refusing to argue any further with this ridiculous muggle-born. "I'll see you at eight." He informed her evenly so that she would not forget, and turned to go. He smiled to hear the door snapping shut yet again. Silly girl, what did she think that would solve?

Oh well, he had better and more immediate matters that demanded his attention. Following the stairs to the main hall he made a graceful appearance. Below, his mother, looking beautiful and elegant as ever, waited with her equally exquisite company: Madam Gouge and her daughter Morrissa. If Granger had any idea… He had certainly been tempted to it slip who precisely the mentioned company was just to see if she got jealous. Although it would certainly have proved highly entertaining it may also have proved dangerous. If Granger was ignorant of anything, it was pureblood customs and propriety. She would plainly not approve and any misbehavior from her tonight could ruin everything. He dare not utter a word. In his mind, however, he was free to picture what may have happened had invited Granger along. Thinking on just that, a wide smile stretched his lips as he pressed them politely to Morrissa's hand. Draco and his haggle of ladies left the manor.

This was the first time he had ever really spent time with Morrissa unless one counted an adolescent, customary meeting and occasional chance meeting at public gatherings as quality time. When they had first met and spent that day together, he had tried desperately to impress her and spent most of his time starring at her beauty, waiting on her, and trying to look important. He had shouted at a waiter in the restaurant h recalled in adolescent attempt to look superior and she had been quite amused. Back then, she had represented a challenge; Pansy had been so willing, so flattered by his every move. She did not dote on him, but lured him to pursue her. He had gladly obliged.

She was composed, graceful, cultured. She knew her place, took his arm, followed his lead, and did not speak to servants or those of lesser blood. The very finest was her standard and it fit her well. There was no denying she was staggeringly beautiful. The image of perfection many would say, as her mother did often. Any man in their right mind would be mad not be pleased and beside himself to have her accompany him. Then why, for Merlin's sake, could he not stop comparing everything she did to Granger?

At first it had been a pleasant relief to reflect on the obvious differences of the two young women. Polar opposites, he had sighed contently to himself while holding lightly to her gloved hand as they apparated. He had directed her from shop to shop of his choosing and she had not once asked why, not once! She had not looked at him with reproach a single time either. With her, he was sure of himself. He knew what to expect from her whatever his move, but even as he sighed with relief, he also began to find himself a tad bored. Everything she did was so perfect; even he could not compete with the languid and flawless poise with which she executed every movement. There was nothing to pick on and he hardly felt teasing would be appropriate even in jest. Upon entering the bookstore he prepared himself for a long wait on his companion, but found she had little need for books. It was then he realized that he was too used to that Hermione's company. When he saw a beggar accost them on the streets, he braced himself for the embarrassment of having to drag that man in rags into a tavern to get him fed. Morrissa however, darted across the street and looked to him to do something. A real lady.

Outside of gossip, which he enjoyed for a while, there was little she could speak about. She did not seem fascinated by his affairs, but went asked about her interests she was willing to give him a lengthy spiel about her career as a dancer. She attended the finest school of dance in Paris and had her own private magical tutor. It was impressive, if not exactly his cup of tea. He tried to stop himself from sniggering when he picture Granger attempting a pirouette. Unfortunately, his attempts failed and Morrissa seemed offended by his amusement.

Lunch was terrible dull. The food was apparently not up to her standards and she sent it back twice. He apologized for bringing her there, embarrassed she did not like it, but she insisted it was not his fault that one could not get good help these days. Apart from that, she seemed to have no opinions of her own to speak of, where Granger was poring over with a deplorable excess of them. When he offered her an ice cream as a treat afterward she seemed mortified. She could not possibly be expected to eat anymore after that filling lunch and it would stain her gloves. It was cold outside besides.

When it began to rain she looked not unlike Hermione's cat and he had to insist they go inside. The tea place was stifling and crowded with shoppers trying to avoid the rain. After twenty minutes cooped up with the women Draco knew if he didn't escape soon he may as well excuse himself to the bathroom and take a flying leap out the window. He spotted something that made his day. In the back of the tea room pestering a ministry official was Rita Skeeter. When she looked up he actually smiled.

"Ladies, it you'll excuse me," he said smoothly, rising with kiss to the hand of Morrissa. "I have to pick up a few things myself. I'll be back in a few minutes and we'll be ready to go."

"It's pouring out."

"I'll be fine, mother."

"Don't be ridiculous. You'll catch you death." Morrissa stated plainly. He did not like that. She spoke to him as if, she knew better. As if she was to tell him what to do. He did not like that one bit no matter how pretty she looked. When he caught himself thinking disdainfully that her faultless hair of hers could do with a little more volume and perhaps some frizz he felt like kicking a chair. Imagining their shock and appall, he almost did. He didn't want to give his mother a heart attack for Christmas though.

"I think I'll live." He said with a much civility as he could muster. He was out of there before he could hear any objections about the weather. The air was cold and the water stung his skin, but it was refreshing for him. The cold air was a shock to his body that took away his thoughts momentarily. He needed a respite from those thoughts, God knew. He kicked the mud in frustration.

Something yipped in surprise and what may have been indignation. Draco grimaced at the man sitting dejectedly in the cold mud and rain. Disgraceful beggar. It wasn't his fault, wasn't his responsibility. That man was not his kin. Probably a damned drunk.

"Get out of here, you filthy drunk." Draco spat. The man looked at him, hard. He looked right through him with soft brown eyes. They weren't blood shot and they were not ashamed, dignity in the face of all tragedy. It reminded him of something that Granger would surly bring to his attention. He felt colder then and sick to his stomach.

"I'm not a drunk. Get out of here you pureblood snob of a kid." The man boldly told him.

"No sir. You are not. My mistake."

Draco cast a careful eye around and found himself extending a hand to the man at his feet. The man surveyed him skeptically before taking it. Without a word Draco slipped a few gold coins into his hand and removed his immediately. It wasn't much, no sense found in throwing away money, but it would get him supper and room for the night.

"Have you lost your mind?" the man said, fingering the money in his wet palm but not looking at it.

"Yes sir, I do believe I have." Draco informed him thoughtfully, twice as confused as he was. "Happy Christmas." He walked on before the beggar could ask questions, or thank him, or throw the money back in his face. He had things to do still. He had to pick up one more gift.

He didn't know why he was doing it, no more than he knew why he had given to that poor man in the streets. It wasn't like him. He didn't know the first place to look to find something Hermione would like, the little oddball, but it had just occurred to him that this year Hermione Granger had no parents or family to speak of and no contact with her friends. Consequently, she was going to get nothing for Christmas unless he did something about it. She was turning him into a ridiculous specimen of man, soft and too sentimental. Weak minded. He hated it!

Gruffly, he entered a store specializing in gifts for ladies, one of the most expensive places on Knockturn Alley. It was called "Aphrodite's Hull, enchanting gifts for enchanting women". The man at the door recognized the familiar face of a Malfoy and offered his patron a cigar. Draco took it and examined the merchandise with a critical eye.

"You looking for something for your beautiful mother, young master Malfoy?" he asked politely. "I was just telling my niece here what a lady your mother is, not a more gracious lady there ever was on God's green earth. She is as pretty as any spring flower, is she not?"

That man certainly did go on and on. Father had been short with him on more than one occasion for it. It annoyed him. 'A man who says too much, Draco,' father had told him, 'Gives the impression of thinking too little.'

"That's my mother." Draco told the older gentleman, smiling at the description nonetheless. His mother was certainly a creature of beauty.

Examining the things on the shelves made him realize how useless they all were. For example, if he got Granger a tea set that serves itself with decorative flowers cascading in an imaginary breeze she would certainly look upon him with a mix of gratefulness and confusion. On one hand, she would be surprised he'd thought to buy her something, but on the other she'd be thinking the same thing he was then: when would she ever use that? He thought of a lovely fur coat as he noticed she looked much better out of her plain clothing, but Granger would never wear something that had been slaughtered. He could just see her throwing it back in his face now screeching about animal rights. He had a strong feeling that if he bought Hermione romantic, seducing lingerie she would throw it back at him as well screeching a lot worse than animal rights. He sniggered, considering buying it as a joke.

"See anything you like master Malfoy?" the foreign accent melodiously chimed at him. Hermione would love that voice; would ask Draco where the man was from. He did not know. He had never asked. "I can order something special if you like; have it shipped speedy in time for the holiday."

"What about this?" said Draco, indicating a set of brushes and combs in a glass case. "What do these do?"

"Ah. A very special treasure, I assure you. The handle is ivory, the back gold. Look at the engravings all over it, so intricate, no?"

"Yes, but what does it do?"

"What does it do? Oh! Nothing your mother would need with her beauty, I assure you, sir. This brush you see smoothes the hair as smooth as silk when you brush it and the comb, perfect curls! Oh such curls as you have never seen-"

"And the mirror?"

"The mirror is tricky. It shows its owner how other's see them rather than how they see themselves. It can be perplexing or a blessing, but here is the most important part of the set: the perfume bottle. It replenishes itself and there is not a finer scent in all the world, I can assure you."

"Why what is it?" he inquired in interest.

"That's just it, my lord." The man chuckled, pleased with himself. "It's anything you want it to be." Draco raised his eyebrows.

"Really? That sounds nice." Granger may like that. It was a respectable gift, a female gift. She could tame that bushy hair and that perfume was quite an incredible thing. He was tempted to give it to her tonight for the evening, but that would defeat the whole purpose of it being a Christmas present. He wasn't about to buy something he did not know worked though.

"Let me see it work." He requested, not rudely.

"Of course, my lord." The man called forward his wife and niece he had spoken of. His wife had tight curls put back in a bun and the little girl a bush of hair that would rival Granger. Sur enough, just as promised, the comb curled her hair in perfect ringlets and his wife's hair, after a few minutes of brushing, was smooth as silk. He doused the girl with two squirts of the perfume and Draco leaned over to smell it. Fresh rain and wild honeysuckle, then it was cider as on would enjoy by a fire in the dead cold of winter, then it was- what?!

He fanned a hand and jerked away. The girl's face burned with embarrassment. "Something wrong, sir?" asked the shopkeeper, worried.

"No, not at all. I'll take it. Wrap it for my please mister Pelotz."

"Yes young master Malfoy right away!" he announced with fervor. He seemed quite pleased. No doubt that item was of considerable value.

"How much?" he asked. A gentleman of his standing would never ask before hand, but examining it now he wished he had.

"Two hundred Galleons sir." Draco handed him a coin purse. The man did not bother to count it. He knew the money would be there, all two hundred gold coins. Money wasted on someone who may or may not like and who didn't give to knuts how much anything cost. He was waiting patiently for the gift to be wrapped when a burette in another case caught his eye. Its red was brilliant. It must match Hermione's dress to a tea and may miraculously lend her elegance with its diamonds. That he could give her tonight.

"And I'll take that as well." He said, indicating the burette.

"Yes, sir. Would you like it wrapped as well then?"

"No thank you, just a box please. How much?" asked Draco extending his hand into his inside pocket again.

"No sir, please. Take it as a Christmas gift, for your faithful business."

"Don't be ridiculous. How much for the hair…er… decoration?"

"No charge for you mister Malfoy, please, I insist. Happy Christmas!"

Draco took his packages from the man with a queer look upon his face. "Thank you and happy Christmas."

The rain had turned to snow when he found three lovely blondes outside tea place waving to him. They were ready to return home to get ready and laughed lightly about men not understanding how long it took women to get ready.

"I don't see how you can make yourselves look any more beautiful than you already do." Draco informed them. They smiled gratefully, flattered, but did not blush. Another blonde suddenly joined them.

"Skeeter," Draco acknowledged.

"Out for a little Christmas shopping are we young master Malfoy? But where is your bride to be?"

"I can't bring her with me when I'm shopping for her gifts, can I?"

"Shopping? What did you get her?"

"I can't tell you. She might read it in the paper tomorrow and ruin the surprise."

"Of course. And who this young beauty? A friend?"

"Yes, this is Morrissa Gouge and her mother Clarisse, long time friends of our family."

"I was under the impression Malfoy's only took mistresses after they were married."

"How dare you? You dare accuse me of infidelity and in front of my mother and as well! You truly have no class _miss _Skeeter. Our conversation, and business with you, has come to an end. Goodbye." That woman had gone too rutting far! He held to his mother's arm and the group apparated on the spot, leaving the shameless reporter with no further words, unless she wanted to print the 'pop!'

Draco and his mother escorted the Gouge ladies home where Draco received a polite kiss on the cheek and was thanked for a lovely day out. She did not mean it. He bid his mother goodbye and all but scurried off to his room to get ready. Contrary to popular belief, he knew exactly how long it took women to get ready. Preparing himself for a night like tonight was no easy feat either. He would have to look even more handsome and charming than normal.

Once he got inside his room he heaped packages on his bed, sighing and stripping off his outer layer of clothes to prepare for his bath. A small box tumbling off the bed onto the floor stopped him dead. The burette.

"Just go give it to her," he snapped at himself. "She can't still be furious. She has to wear it tonight. Still, I could always give it to her later…" Frustrated yet again, he grabbed the box and went straight for her room where he knocked sharply.

"I thought you were coming until eight o'clock. I'm not ready yet!" she squeaked in panic as she opened the door.

"Relax Granger. I just brought you something."

"Brought me something?"

"Yes, as in a gift."

"A gift?"

"Yes have you gone hard of hearing while I was away or been jinxed into repeating everything anyone says?"

She shut her open mouth with a snap. He jabbed his arm forward to hand her the gift. She took the box and he turned to leave, not even wanting to see her reaction. He had just closed his door and removed his shirt when the door flew open again behind him. There was a shrill squeal and he was pounced upon by a hysterical Granger.

"What what is it?" He took her by the arms and, prying off his chest, held her still before him and demanded, "What in the bloody hell is going on?"

"Oh thank you, Draco! Thank you so much. I've ever seen anything so lovely in my whole life. You must have spent a fortune on it. You shouldn't have! Oh but it is gorgeous and it just matches my dress for tonight so perfectly. I can't thank you enough. How did you think of it?" she fluttered.

"Well," he hesitated, taken aback by her enthusiasm. "I just saw it while I was shopping and thought you might wear it tonight. It was-" He was going to say it was no big deal, but he remembered how poorly that had gone so he stopped himself. "It was no trouble." He amended.

"Oh thank, thank you, thank you," she said, hugging him again. "Well, I'll leave you to get ready." She said pulling away with a blush creeping into her cheeks as she suddenly realized his shirt was gone.

"Okay." He responded dumbly "You're welcome." Were those tears in her eyes? Ridiculous. One would think the girl had never been given something nice. Then again, maybe she hadn't. That was embarrassing. Still, it occurred to him, Morrissa did not thank him once all day.

By a quarter to eight he was examining his own figure in his floor length mirror. "Not bad, Draco you devil, not bad at all."

He wrapped on her door a moment afterward. His gut felt light. What he saw when the door opened nearly winded him. Was that the dress? It looked better than it had in the shop window on her slender figure, hugging it tight. Of course, he reminded himself, it had been fitted for her. Per Hermione's modest request, cleavage did not show, but most of her upper chest and collarbone was exposed along with the tops of her shoulders looking alluring. It may be slightly shimmering, if h were looking closely, which he was not. He had never noticed her skin being so flawless before. Even the most unfortunate dog had at least one good feature, he supposed. Her hair, effectively tamed in a way similar to her style for the Yule Ball years ago, fell softly onto those shoulders. Glimmering in her locks and pulled sweepingly to one side was the delicate burette, a scarlet Phoenix with rubies and diamonds shinning in grandeur and grace. Below the soft whiteness of her chest, a light gossamer cloth was draped elegantly across her breast line and under it a red silk corset seamlessly encompassed her tiny waist ending with a large ribbon of gossamer. It widened at the hips and silk gave way to an even darker, blood red in velvet that trailed to the floor and lingered in a small pool behind her. A slit, however, also ran up the side almost all the way to the hip in a manner he suddenly felt far too seductive. It was not an extravagant dress by any means, fairly simple, but it fit her well in all manners. As much as he may hate to admit it, she looked, well, classy. There was an expectant look on her face. Oh yes, she must be waiting on him to stop starring and speak. Good lord, Draco, don't go funny over one pretty girl, part of him told himself. Then again, this wasn't just any pretty girl, another part spoke up. It was Hermione Granger and she looked, well…

His mouth had gone unreasonably dry and his mind incredibly blank. "You look-" he began, but faltered.

"Yes?" she asked, hands wringing nervously, hands that bore white gloves with red decorative trim, the intricacy of which lent further elegance to the ensemble.

"Nice." Articulate, Malfoy.

"Thank you." She smiled, bowing her head shyly. "I tried." She quipped. The smartness of the remark made him more comfortable. "You look dashing." The remark was not sarcastic.

"Well, that's to be expected." He joked. She smiled and the two fell quiet for a moment. What harm could come from paying the girl a reasonable compliment? It was the gentlemanly thing to do and he was a gentleman was he not? She looked pretty and she deserved to know she looked pretty. The last thing he needed was her entering that room with those people unconfident. "Oh, sod it Hermione you look, well, stunning. Absolutely stunning." He blurted. Don't you dare blush Draco Malfoy! He then added happily, "We're going knock them dead!" Smiling wickedly, he took her arm and walked slowly. Hopefully, by the time they made their entrance he face would be a calmer shade than her dress. That would look terrible tacky, he thought.

As they stepped into the hall soft chatter hushed as did the small orchestra. Draco tried not to look too smug as they made their way past the speechless table to the end where they would sit together, opposite his parents. Some of the family had stood in respect at their arrival, some refused to stand. She held herself composedly at his side, following his lead as he waited for his father to sit. When he sat she knew to stay standing until his mother had done so as well. As everyone was seated and meal blessed it soon became apparent that she had remembered everything they had discussed in their tea times together about the proper etiquette of this meal. For once he was grateful for Hermione Granger's quick wit and intellect. He lent her a quick smile to show his approval and she returned it. He could not tell it if was genuine or not, but it hardly mattered.

Draco was quite enjoying his holiday dinner, until something happened that upset everything.

A/N: Well this was quite a lot of Draco... what did you think? Any questions? Ready to what happened? Let me know in a review! As always, thank you for reading.


	26. What Mattered Was

**Disclaimer: **Please see previous chapters. I do not own Harry Potter and so on…

_A/N: This is one of the longest chapters yet and I'm very excited to post it. In response to all of the wonderful, prompt reviews I up-dated especially early. Please remember to take a few moments to review. Thanks!_

**Stolen**

**Chapter 26:** What Mattered Was

The day had been long, boring, and stifling. Draco had arrogantly announced that morning he would be leaving her alone all day and she was not to leave her room. He seemed to be frustrated with her reaction last night, rather than remorseful. He seemed to have the feeling she was biting the hand that fed her. She, on the other hand, felt he was taking this opportunity to demonstrate yet again his power of her life, that he could lock her away on a whim. Her house elf? Ridiculous! Now she'd have to kiss his arse all evening and bite her tongue hard to keep from saying anything at all to his horrible relatives if she wanted to do any Christmas shopping. Well, maybe his good looking cousin would be there. Just yesterday she had been excited, having finally found the perfect gift for Draco for Christmas and now she didn't even want to get him anything. Arguing with him in the morning had been a foul start to her day. From there it only got worse.

It was being so angry with him that kept her from having to worry about that odd moment the previous evening, the one that put her head in a tizzy. What had she been thinking? She was actually content to run off with her hormones and vain, wild fancies until he had brought it shrilly and painfully to her attention that it was nothing at all to him, and so, consequentially, was she for that matter. Hermione Granger had never been one in the past for casual intimacy, not one much for intimacy at all actually. Call her old fashioned, but she just didn't approve of the arrangements she knew many students to have, Draco included, which consisted of swapping sex as casually as phone numbers. She was not about to be used for momentary, thoughtless pleasure, even if she would be using him too. The whole thing disgusted her and she had been so close to recklessness, so close to losing sight of the lines between games and reality and much more. Mistakes like that would be inexcusable. She could frankly not afford to be selfish and impulsive.

Fuming with all such thoughts meandering in her brain, she went to work at counting the minutes until he returned and it was time to get ready. It was a laborious, draining business and she soon grew tired of it. A combination of pride and boredom carried her away from the safety of her room. She's be damned if anyone was going to tell her where to stay put. They'd all be taking lunch together downstairs no doubt. No one would be in the hall.

She crept cautiously into the hall and walked aimlessly, tempting fate. Her footsteps were muffled as she wore no shoes to tap the hard floors. It was cold in the hall where there were no fireplaces or carpet, but she didn't mind. She walked all the way down the main corridor of the upstairs hall farther than she had ever been, to the stain glass window. There she could look through the colored glass with the medieval depiction of who she believed to be Casus Malfoy, holding a wand and playing with several other children. Birds, falcons she suspected, soared above him. His hair was white blonde, not unlike Draco may have looked as a child. She smiled. She had never seen a picture of him when he was younger. She wondered what he looked like then, sweet and innocent or mischievous. She liked to picture him adorable and unspoiled. Perhaps if he saw a picture of her when she was a child he may look at her differently.

'Don't think about childhood,' she quickly told herself. 'Do not think about your parents. Pretend you're going home to them soon. You are just visiting for the holiday. They are at home now, cooking a meal together and laughing about that BBC comedy they always watch.' Her eyes clouded with tears as she surveyed the frozen land before her.

They've got a Christmas tree up and her stocking hanging by the fire. They have their own knitted for them that look ridiculous but they insist on putting them on display along with all the pictures of her with Father Christmas, even the one's where she's too small and is crying. She wasn't there to help decorate the tree this year with them like always but they don't mind. Every craft she ever made is stuck on there proudly no matter how ancient and its complete minus the star on the top because of course her father will wait until she gets home to do that. They smile and say to each other they wonder when Hermione is coming home. It's almost Christmas Eve.

Tears sting her cool cheeks as she closes her eyes and swallows a sob.

She is coming just as soon as she can, mum and dad. She'll be there soon enough and be rid of this monster. And they are happy and drinking cider that isn't sweet enough and are not buried under some frozen ground in a place miles from her. She tells them mentally that she is not disappointed she didn't get a puppy because she never really wanted one and she should never have thrown that fit when she didn't get one that year, but they no longer care about that silly thing. In fact, they tell her, they can't recall a single fight.

Pressing her forehead to the cool glass is soothing and she half sits on the sill bench of the massive window. The grounds are lovely all covered in fog. It's going to rain the thunder above warns her. She can feel the rumble through the glass and the shudder continues through her. She longs to feel its vibration again. She wants it to rain.

Mum is asking if she should make the Pumpkin bread now and dad says of course because its Hermione's favorite and it should be ready when she arrives. They eat it every year. How stupid, she thinks, they hate it. She should never have went on and on about it. Once again, they don't really mind the pumpkin bread. The Grangers are teasing each other about their gifts in the warm home that was not destroyed in a fire set by Death Eaters. Hermione really should be on now, they say.

They are right, she thinks, I should be home instead of here wasting my life. I should have been home with them that rather than with my friends. They were my family. I should have been with them!

In anger she clenches her fists painfully tight. She wishes the fingernails pressing into her palm would slice through the skin, bleed. And then a sudden noise behind her catches her attention and makes her heart leap. She had to blink twice to make sure it was there and not just a coincidental illusion. A puppy? It was a Jack Russell Terrier, sniffing at the base of a pedestal which had a very fine vase which was teetering precariously. She steadied it with a swish of her wand and called quietly to the adorable pup which scampered excitedly her way. She extended a hand evenly as Draco had showed her. The animal sniffed her frantically and she felt herself begin to smile as the wet nose tickled her palm. Its tail began to wag a little as it friendlily licked her and that's when she spotted it. The tail was forked. At first she just thought it odd but as the pup began to growl faintly at her, unsure of whether it liked her or not, she recalled something from Hagrid's class. A crump was a magical animal that strongly resembled a Jack Russell, but had a forked tail and, if she remembered correctly, hated muggles. Seems the kind of pet Malfoy's family may have.

Carefully, she tried to move away from it but it snarled and yipped at her feet. She shushed it in vain, trying to maintain secrecy and avoid detection, as she hurried toward her door. Something tapping on the glass made her look back even though it gave the animal a great opportunity to nip at her ankle. It was raining. She cried out softly in pain and scolded the pup, turning sharply to race away. Things did not go as planned. Instead of stealing down the hall, she collided with a heavy figure before her. Her body stiffened with worry. She leaned back with a great sense of dread to survey whoever it was she had just ran into, well aware that it could be any number of foul and dangerous people. Her fearful glance was met instead by a figure altogether pleasing and breathtaking.

He was handsome, darker than most of the Malfoy clan with sparkling eyes: Raphael, the angel.

"Excuse me," she said shyly. "I'm terribly sorry."

"Excuse me." He said smiling, but moving to block her escape. Her breath caught. Taking her arm, he escorted her to her door suavely. At the door he paused, still holding onto her. Something shifted in her gut. Move away, it warned her but she was frozen. He was awfully close to her she noticed. Leaning in, the young man seemed to be trying to inhale the scent of her hair. Entirely uncomfortable and not looking for trouble she thanked him kindly and all but rushed into her room. She did not hesitate to lock the door. That was just odd. She thought he was attractive, but what business did he have being so flirtatious with her? He had been so sure of himself that time. Maybe it had not been Raphael at all, the brothers were triplets after all. She could not explain her vexation over the brief encounter that persisted throughout her lunch and bath. Her attention was soon diverted yet again however by a rap at her door. She opened it cautiously half expecting to see a tall, handsome celestial being only to find a put out looking Draco had surprised her at her door with a box her thrust forth uninterestedly. She didn't really want to open it at all, but she had to suffice her curiosity. She could no more stop herself from opening that box if it could have held all the evil of the world in it than she could hold in the gasp when she saw what lay inside. Even when she hugged him, showed her gratefulness, he did not understand. He could not understand. Her parents had been dentists. She'd never gone without, but they were not people prone to materialistic and glamorous gifts. Theirs had always been practical. Those who knew her best, bought her books as presents, but this meant he did see something behind that nose buried in a volume. A girl, as Ron would point out after knowing her for four years.

What's worse, so much had been counting on the evening dinner and she had no fine jewelry. She knew she'd look a pauper next to Narcissa's pearls and everyone's diamonds, but she could do nothing. Now she would look worthy, classy enough. It was an extravagant gift, but it wasn't how much he spent that took her by surprise. She was pleased that on his day off he even thought of her at all. He did not understand and she never dreamed he would, but at the very least she would not seem ungrateful.

Knobby helped her get ready. The elf was apparently a prodigy with hair and make-up and Hermione sorely wished she had asked for her help before. Her own image in the mirror surprised her. She had never looked more like a movie star in her life. She thanked the elf exceedingly and made a mental note to pay her back even though she refused any such thing and cried profusely when Hermione gave her a hug.

To top it all off, Draco had called her stunning. That was odd. She could not tell if he meant it or he felt he should say it. He did look devilishly handsome and she had to give him credit though it pained her to inflate his ego any further. His appeal was beginning to grate on her nerves truth be told but they had been on the same side as she tried to cool her flaming cheeks and gather her sense before entering the magnificent dinning hall. Their flabbergasted faces as they stared at her were all she could have asked for for Christmas.

The room was quite different from the night of their engagement party. It was far more formal then celebratory. The colors were the same deep red as her dress along with black, white, and a very dark shade of green. It went perfectly with the Christmas tree that reached nearly fourteen feet towards the high ceiling. The private orchestra had taken her by surprise. They were positioned slightly to the side, out of the way. The table had been full, and, just as she suspected, its inhabitants glistened with diamonds, pearls, rubies, and emeralds. Clad in their finest winter dress robes, the Malfoy family was seated along the long wooden table with Lucius at the head. Draco, the heir, sat opposite him with Hermione at his side. She was immensely thankful that this gathering did not include any of Narcissa's relatives, namely Bellatrix. She was further thankful to find that no one really spoke to her. In some other instance she would have been insulted, but as it was she could not bring herself to feel anything but relieved.

Those present did include all three brothers Michael, Gabriel, and Raphael along with their parents Rosaline and Claudius. Lucius was an only child, Draco had told her, Claudius was his grandfather's brother. His three sons were unmarried and had no children or no legitimate ones anyway. Lucius's father, however, did have two sisters and a brother who all had children Lucius' age. Their children included Gregory Crabbe as well as several other Slytherins Hermione recognized, apparently Draco's cousins. Pansy Parkinson was silent from her seat nearby and threw only one hateful glance at Hermione. She was apparently to be married to another of Draco's cousins. Perhaps she had done it to make him jealous. It seemed she came out with the poor end of that deal. That young man was terribly thin but also aggressive. Hermione only saw her make use of one of her gloved wrists the entire night. She actually felt sorry for her. At least Draco had never been violent.

That group she recalled meeting at the party, but everyone else was a mystery. They were all very Malfoy like, pale and arrogant. Dinner was brought out by a mass of house elves and later dessert carts as well. Hermione knew every bit of etiquette imaginable, who was seated first and last, who ate first. The meal went on without a hitch. Draco and she exchanged smiles, hers more strained than his and then Grandmother Agalia had entered.

She was a very old woman, one hundred and two to be exact Draco informed her, and she was shown the utmost respect. Everyone rose and hushed when she entered in mid meal pushed in a chair by a house elf and everyone spoke to her, kissing her hand. She smiled blankly, confused by dementia or poor hearing perhaps. Still, even in her age she possessed an air of grace Hermione would never hold a candle to. The woman seemed kind, if a little distant.

From across the table she caught a familiar face staring at her. She met the gaze and when neither looked away she was met by a charming smile. She returned it in earnest, happy to see somewhat less hostility in their glances towards her. Next to his brothers she was sure he was Raphael. Then, without warning, everything went to rot. In a hurry. Draco's hand clamped tightly on her own. She winced.

Not long after her arrival the dessert carts had been rolled out and that's when her wonderful masquerade fell to pieces. Placed before her by her thoughtful little elf was the most delicious looking pumpkin bread she had ever seen. It steamed and the aroma wafting of it was sweet. There was cinnamon on the top glaze and it was sliced neatly to reveal the cream cheese swirl inside. Draco was looking ravenously at his German chocolate cake and she could not catch his eye to signal they needed to be excused. She did not dare make a noise but soldiered on, tears streaming down her perfectly powdered face as she sipped from her wind glass. The sob threatening to burst forth nearly choked her as she swallowed. She stared very hard at her white napkin telling herself to snap out of it. Control, Hermione, control. A trembling lip was difficult to bite. She looked up to spy Lucius starring directly at her. Cutting daintily from his own pecan pie, he watched her coldly, smiling sadistically at her tears as if daring her to speak. Looking away in displeasure she clapped a napkin to her mouth to hide her tears and muffle her small cry. Next to her Draco finally noticed her distress. He seemed to be choking on his cake. He looked at her with horror etched on his face. It looked as though his mouth had suddenly gone very dry. His meaning was clear: what is wrong with you? Do not do this!

Lucius voice drawled form the head of the table, addressing his son.

"Did you enjoy your trip to London today Draco?" he asked.

"Yes, father." answered Draco obediently. Something in his voice sounded tight.

"And your guests?"

"I hope so."

"Draco was quite the gentleman this morning. I dare say both Gouges were taken with his charming demeanor." His wife put in from beside him. Draco audibly gulped. Lucius paused a moment, then gave Naricissa a cold, indecipherable look. She looked at him for a moment emotionlessly, then down. The conversation changed. Hermione clenched her dress under the table. She could not help it. Rapidly, she was breaking. Gouge? Morrissa Gouge? Did he really leave her here to go off shopping with that snobby gorgeous girl, his ex-fiancée? Was she with him when he bought the barrette? And she had been so flattered he had thought of her. Maybe they had been making fun of her. Perhaps Draco had been embarrassed by the very thought of her having no fine jewelry to wear tonight. What a fool she had surely looked then!

She did not care about the humiliation or the consequence of crying. She was ready to bawl like a baby and throw a tantrum. She wanted to go home! She wanted her parents. She didn't want to play anymore. Then, as if by a miracle, he saw it. He understood.

His hand took hers and stroked the top gently. Lifting the fork to her lips, he gave her a bite of his chocolate cake. She closed her eyes as she took it, unable to contest. Instantly, she felt a little better. Taking deep breaths, she mustered courage she didn't know she had.

A few tense moments passed and all was as it should be. She had chocolate cake before rather than Pumpkin bread and she could pretend to be pleased she until spotted one person watching her with concern rather than anger and it was not her fiancée. Raphael nodded towards her ever so slightly as if to indicate his question. She smiled at him, licking her fork happily to show she was much better now. He looked away shyly and she realized what the gesture insinuated. She blushed. A fork nearby dropped with a soft clank.

He had excused them before she knew what was going on. With a painfully firm hold on her elbow he led her from the room, stopping just short of making a scene. Outraged and embarrassed and a lot of other similar feeling Hermione followed obediently until the door shut behind them. They rounded each other in seconds like hungry lions.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Draco hissed.

"What?" asked Hermione innocently.

"What are you playing at with my cousin?"

"Why Draco, if I didn't know better, I'd say you were jealous." She would have been amused had he not just drug her from the dining room in front of everyone. It was just a harmless smile after all, a faint blush.

"Jealous?"

"That's right." She told him boldly, rubbing her elbow.

"You have no idea what you're getting yourself into," he growled.

"I think I do actually. A scandalous affair, not unlike the one you encouraged today, in public Draco! After all we've done to build our image…"

"Then you're more stupid then I ever dared to dream."

"What? Stupid? How dare you." She was moving toward livid and she was making the move with astounding speed.

"You don't know anything about them."

"I know they're Malfoys. I'm sure they're just leading me on, or maybe they're just using me? Is that it? Maybe I don't care. Maybe I'm using them too!" She wasn't sure where all that was coming from, but she let it out anyway.

"But for the same reason?" He inquired with an air of malice.

She jerked back her hand and, before she knew what she was doing, she heard the resounding smack that could only be the result of her palm connecting forcefully with Draco's pale skin. She looked up at him with horror and realization.

His fury was beyond words, his face contorted in rage almost beyond recognition. He grabbed her by the wrists and shook her forcefully. His eyes were burning like smoke again, his own arms shaking with the effort to control his rage. She wondered if perhaps no one had ever struck him before. She waited, her fear of him and what he might be capable of steadily mounting, to hear what insult or threat he would shout in response. When none came, and his anger still did not diminish, Hermione grew truly frightened. There seemed to be only one thing she could do.

"Draco, I-I'm-" He cut her off her apology, not with words, but with a physical manifestation of hatred. He spat in her face.

Whatever delusion she had previously felt regarding his state of fury being attractive was wiped away. She gasped and pulled violently from him, trying to free her stinging wrists. He did not let go.

Instead, he pulled her from the hallway, not in the direction of their rooms, but towards the area of the house she knew to contain the library. Hermione drug her feet and pushed his chest, trying in vain to get free, and yelling for someone to help or for him to stop. As he dragged her through the open doors into the library, pushed her from him, and shut the heavy doors behind him, Hermione was quaking with fear. She had never been struck by a man before but she was well aware she may have just pushed him too far and was afraid it may be that she was about to find out what it was like to be struck by someone twice her strength. She never thought he had the guts.

The glistening quarter moon above her was the only light to the room until Draco lit a desk lamp. She gazed at the starry skies above her, looking for comfort, but found them burning violently in the darkness and looking livid as they moved with the swelling motion of the angry sea. The dragon, in particular, burned bright. Still on the floor, she moved her gaze to the stationary, moodless carpet, drawing a shaky breath. She did not look up as Draco moved in front of her, still audibly panting in his fit of rage. Then, at long last, he spoke.

"Have a seat, Miss Granger."

"W-what?"

"I SAID TAKE A BLOODY SEAT!"

It did not occur to Hermione to disobey his request. She pulled herself into the chaise as he sat down across from her the armchair by the fire, chest still heaving. As he turned to the fireplace and lit it, she took advantage of the moment his head was turned to wipe her face.

"I will tell you this one thing, Granger, this one secret, and then will never speak of my family again, do you understand?"

She nodded, not really understanding it at all, in shock. His family? It took him a moment to collect his thought, or his courage- for it was difficult to tell which- and he began.

"Do you recall my great uncle Claudius, my father's uncle, my grandfather's brother?" She nodded for him to continue.

"Do you remember his wife?"

Hermione thought for a moment. "Small, meek lady. White hair. Dressed as a fairy. Rosaline, was she called?"

"That's right."

"Beautiful older woman, very quiet."

"She's deaf."

"Oh."

"Yes and barren."

"Barren? But I thought she was mother to Michael, Raphael, and Gabriel."

"Yes, she was."

"I don't understand." For the first time since they entered the room, he met her eyes. Hurriedly, he glanced around the room and stared hard at the door, as if expecting them to be interrupted. He frowned and then cast two spells in quick succession, one to lock the door and another to keep them from being overheard. Then, he dimmed the lamp on the table so that the only light in the room was from the moon on the ceiling and the fireplace. Such lighting resulted in an eerie glow and long, stalking shadows being thrown about. The room was somewhat foreboding and did nothing to calm her beating heart. His voice became low and whispering, as if the walls might overhear.

"Did you notice how much difference there was between the age of my father and his cousins? If Claudius is my grandfather's younger brother, then his children should be roughly the same age as him, right? But they are younger than my father. In fact, they're young enough to be my father's children. Do the math Granger. Even if my grandfather was older than his brother by several years and Claudius married a woman far younger than him the children would still be a bit older then Nyphandora Tonks, wouldn't they? Odd isn't it?"

Hermione only frowned in response, her curiosity mounting.

"The healers told Rosaline years ago, after her and Claudius tried to have children, that she was barren. She was devastated, as was her husband. They went to healers all over the world of all types of practices. No one could help. As they started to grow older, they got more and more desperate. Uncle Claudius located a gypsy healer. As you know Gypsy magic is not only strange and ancient but, some believe, it's cursed. Gypsies aren't acknowledged by the ministry or granted entrance into Hogwarts. Not even the great Dumbledore feels it would be safe or practical to have them in the school.

"They teach their own customs and magic amongst themselves. Some magical creatures, like Goblins and Centaurs, claim gypsies have stolen knowledge from them and the two have long been enemies of their kind. Although most of the great seers in our history have been gypsies, many purebloods consider it a disgrace to consult gypsy healers, so it was done in secret. "

Most of the information on gypsies Hermione had already read though they were largely left out of History of Magic lectures, and there wasn't much about them in the library either. Hermione thought it very odd indeed that Dumbledore would deny a certain group of people entrance into his school, even with the odd superstitions and customs the Gypsies had. Perhaps he considered their practices dark at best though many held Catholic beliefs in addition to their ancient crafts. She knew that he too regarded Divination as a fairly wooly subject. Something Draco said brought her quickly out of her musing on Gypsies.

"She was pregnant within the month. They were very happy." Hermione could not conceal her look of shock. She had thought, from most of her reading, that gypsies were mostly full of it when it came to their magical cures.

"After some time, my Uncle began to worry though and he went back to the gypsy. He told the gypsy that to make his wife fertile was not enough. He wanted more then one child. He also sought magic to ensure that the child was healthy and did not lack the sense his mother did. The gypsy woman was kind and liked the strange, meek Rosaline, so she told her she would not only impregnate her, but also make it so she could have many children. In addition, the children would, rather than lack a sense, each have one extra. It would cost a great deal of gold, but my uncle assured her money was no object."

"A sixth sense?" Hermione questioned skeptically. He nodded and went on with the story.

"After visiting a healer they learned they were to have twins." Again Hermione was puzzled. There should be three. Perhaps one of the boys came later.

"However, the next time, there were four babies in the womb and the third time there were six. The healers were puzzled. Apparently, it's not supposed t happen like that."

'No,' thought Hermione. 'It's not. Usually multiple births are created by the woman releasing more than one egg in an ovulation, the fertilized egg dividing into copies of the same genetic material, or a combination of both spontaneous events happening at once. This sort of instance was unheard of and scientifically impossible. Had there been an ultrasound, she would have assumed the doctors missed the others at first, but since it was done by magic, they could only have appeared afterwards. Strange. Probably some kind of dark magic,' she concluded.

"Six." stressed Draco, looking at her again, this time with an expectant expression. "You recognize the significance?" She nodded and swallowed. She wished he would stop speak in such a hushed voice.

"People began to talk, suspecting he had seen a gypsy. It was a blessing his father was dead before then, or he would have been outraged when he found what his son had done. My grandfather, Claudius' brother, Titus stood by his brother. He said it was a blessing that no one was to question. Claudius feared for his wife's life though, because even then she was a small, frail woman. How could she give birth to six healthy children and live? Claudius, a stubborn eccentric with a terrible temper was furious with the gypsy and thought she had played a trick on him. He thought his wife would die as a result of her crookedness in an attempt to get paid for each of the babies and their senses. He should have expected as much from a gypsy though, they're known for it. He sought out the gypsy a third time and yelled at her that she was crook and refused her payment."

Hermione let out a small gasp with her hand upon her mouth. Of all the lure, folklore, and lies surrounding the society, Gypsies are best known for the curses they place upon those that break their word in a business arrangement.

"Rosaline went into labor and that night she gave birth to three healthy children and three still born." Hermione, hand still on her mouth, felt her eyes water. "The odd thing was the miscarried babies were not just small and still and cold, they were bruised and broken. If the wounds had been sustained by the mother, she would have shown signs as well, as would the three healthy infants, but they did not." As she listened, Hermione felt she may be sick at any moment all over the rug.

"The old woman killed them?"

"That's certainly what my grandfather and great uncle thought, so they hunted her down, tortured, and eventually killed her, but with her very last breaths on this earth she assured them that she never meant for the children to be harmed. She told my uncle it was his own greed, for more children, for special magic, and for his own money that damned his children. She claimed that she did not harm them, but instead, instilled within three of them avarice, hatred, aggression, and spite in their hearts. Michael, Raphael, and Gabriel, my uncle's heirs, possessed the same traits he had showed the gypsy. They were present even in the womb. Rosaline never would have died, the Gypsy assured them; she had no reason to punish Rosaline.

"In a maddened state it is said that Claudius asked her how his children died then, calling her a murderer. She cried that it was a mistake and told him the story of the bull shark."

"The bull shark?"

"Yes. Are you familiar with it?"

"No."

"A female bull shark produces two baby sharks per pregnancy. Only one is born. In a Spartan effort to assure the strength and evolution of a race, the two sharks will fight one another in the womb. The stronger one wins and feeds off his brother until he is born."

"Are you saying that Raphael, Michael, and Gabriel killed their brothers in the womb?"

"No."

"No?"

"They killed their sisters."

"Oh." Hermione let out a half sob.

"They hate women, except their mother. None of them are married, though handsome, powerful and pureblood. They seemed kind and flirty enough, but underneath there is nothing but hate, greed, avarice, spite, aggression…"

"Raphael?"

"Raphael is the Bellatrix of the Malfoy side of my family. He's seems shy and quiet, because he's kept restrained and quiet. If not, he gets out of control. They don't tell his mother. It would break her delicate heart. He has a taste for the bizarre. For years, times when the Dark Lord was strong, they just kept him moving, so that no muggles catch on when too many young women disappear from one town."

Hermione shuddered. "He looks so innocent."

"Looks can be deceiving. It's not innocence in his sparkling eyes, Granger, its madness. "

"Why doesn't the ministry catch on?"

"The ministry doesn't have much communication with muggle local law enforcement. From what I understand, it is not that often of an occurrence now anyway."

"Your whole family just, just, covers for him?" Hermione asked, disgusted.

"They're just a few muggles sluts." Draco responded dismissively.

"I'm a muggle."

"Yes, but not a slut. I dare say you're still a virgin."

"So what if I am? There's nothing wrong with that!" she replied smartly, but her cheeks grew pink.

"No. I want my wife to be a virgin."

"What?"

"That's why I would have never married Pansy. Real pureboods raise their daughters to be respectable and loyal. I could never touch a girl who'd been with anyone else."

She was astonished.

"They don't hold their boys to the same standard, I see."

"Men's loyalties are required in other ways. Besides, you can't really tell if a man's lying about it or not. A girl on the other hand…"

Not liking where conversation was veering, Hermione changed the direction quickly, bringing up something nagging her.

"So the boys, their sixth senses, do they really have them?" Draco did not answer right away, but rather looked her hard in the face at length. She had never seen him look so searchingly or serious before.

"Yes. In fact it is Raphael's unique ability that keeps him in well with the family in spite of his demented, sick tendencies." His voice was laden with disgust. "He can smell un-pure blood."

"That's impossible."

"I assure you it's true. He's not unlike his damned dogs. He did smell you didn't he? Why do you think he was staring at you? He could sense it." Hermione looked down.

"Michael can spot a lie from the truth. Even the most accomplished occlumens in the world cannot look him in the eye and lie. Not the Dark Lord, not Dumbledore, not Snape…"

"Gabriel?" Hermione asked, surprised to find her voice tearful. "What can he sense?"

"Innocence and guilt. No one can hide their secrets from the angels of justice."

"Angels of justice?"

"That's what they're called. They're named for angels: Michael, Gabriel, and Raphael."

"Faust."

"What?"

"The angels in Faust."

"That's right."

"I'm not going back in there."

"All right."

She had expected more of an argument. "All right?"

"Go to bed. I'll make your excuses."

"So you were trying to protect me."

For half a second, he looked as though he had taken himself by surprise, then he quickly recovered, hiding all signs in his token smirk.

"I don't like to share." He sneered.

Furious and indignant beyond anything she had ever experienced, she leapt to her feet again. He mirrored her action quickly. They met in the center of the room in a fraction of a second. Pride shinning stubbornly and hate blazing in each of their eyes, fury etched in each of their faces, anger pulsating so strongly they could feel the heat of it in the small gap between their bodies, they faced each other for a moment. After an intense, breathless silence, Hermione hissed into his fire-lit face: "You disgust me!"

"I hate you," he growled into the darkness.

"I loath your complete existence!" she exclaimed in a hushed yell

"I loath my very existence because I exist with you!"

"Likewise."

Darkness has an effect on people, like secrets. Like fear. It pulls things out of them they did not formerly know, and they find themselves doing something with sudden ease they never dreamed they were capable of doing. In that moment, those two were in a strange darkness, afraid of everything around them. Their secrets had plunged forth, the truth was out, their anger leapt front and center, and then lust rose up in Hermione like the smoke in Draco's burning eyes. It was his fury that made him so handsome, and although she didn't like it, the fear of it combined with the darkness, made her bold. She grabbed his face, as if to return the favor and spit in it, but instead pressed her lips forcefully to his. She expected to be pushed away, but had no intention going quietly. She never felt such unadulterated want.

He did not pull away. It was easy to forget yourself in the dark. Perhaps the fire lighting her face so violently was what created the heat in him. She had made him angry, and yet, he so enjoyed teasing her. He was teasing her when he opened his warmth mouth in the kiss, but she obliged hungrily. Their tongues flicked like the flames behind them. She breathed deeply and he licked her lips again, kissing softly to urge her into continuing. There was no need. She drug her teeth tenderly along his lower lip thinking vaguely that this was exceptionally odd the way that as this was so possible, almost funny. Without her consent, his hands grabbed a hold on her by the ribs, his fingers dug in. Then, rather than the desperate and delicate tasting, sucking on the tongue, and pull on the lips, Draco put the tip of her tongue in between his teeth. He held it in place, gently at first, and began to bite down upon it. It was gradual, but he reached the point where she almost cried. Hermione, who had never tasted pain she enjoyed, kissed him gratefully, her chest trembling with a silent moan she had never known she possessed. The rhythm was easy to fall into, the taste rewarding.

Sense seemed to come to them after only a few rushed seconds. They broke apart, gasping for breath and trying to steal themselves once more to the other's effect. Quiet suddenly, Hermione lightened the room, removed the charms upon the door, and moved a step away. Draco looked at her wonderingly, until the door to library swung open.

Lucius Malfoy stood there, looking nothing shy of furious. Draco practically jumped at his father's entrance. Hermione avoided his eyes, a painful bubble of fear swelling tightly in her chest.

"How dare he?"

"Father?"

"Your cousins have left my home Draco. They disgrace the name of Malfoy….what is she doing in here?" he stopped his rant when he caught sight of Hermione in his family library.

"Leaving," Draco answered with surprising speed and cleverness. " I've just had to show her a little something about whose boss."

"Oh yes, well, send her away," he urged, uninterested.

Holding in her sigh of relief, she left hurriedly. Not bothering to try to eavesdrop, she went straight to her room. She was trying not to feel resentful, or curious, or ashamed, or lustful, or anything really. She had truly underestimated how difficult it was to empty oneself of emotions. Harry had been right.

Then she thought of Harry and Ron at the burrow or Grimmauld place and wondered how they were doing. She missed them dreadfully. With her family gone, her friends were more important to her than ever. She hoped they would make up when they returned to school, once they had received the letters she risked sending them, concealed within their Christmas presents. Trying again not to think of would happen if they did not make up, she put her mind matters of business, Order business.

She would need to record that Draco had warned her about the brothers without revealing everything he had shared, as his father would read it. Regretfully, she would also have to lie about Draco putting her in her place. Would she leave out the kiss? Lucius may like it, but what about the Order, Harry, and Ron? How would they react to hear what had just happened in the library of Malfoy Manor?

She recalled Harry's last words to her. Was she deceiving herself? Was she losing control? The ghost of Draco's lips pressed upon hers made her consider that notion. What would have happened if she had not heard the footsteps and they had been discovered? What would have happened if they had not been interrupted at all? She shuddered.

That could not happen again. She would not lose herself in this farce or be fooled by Malfoy. She would not turn away from her friends for any reason, at any cost, ever. She would not throw away her sacrifice, her parents and Snape's just because she was lonely and hormonal and starving for affection. She would not let their suspicions be proven right. Whether they trusted her or not did not matter. What mattered was that they could.

Smiling at her realization, she quickened her pace towards her bedroom. It was with a strange jolt that something occurred to her as she half noticed the decorations in the hall and the clock chiming midnight: it was Christmas Eve.

_A/N: At last-the kiss! I do hope you liked it. Not a fairy tale kiss, but aw well. This chapter was originally called "The Three Brothers", but I decided to make it more of a surprise. I've been dying to tell that part for a while. Also I know Hermione looked a little weak in some parts, but I thought it was an appropriate time to bring grief into the picture. I can't wait to show what happens next so please __**review**__! _


	27. Christmas Eve

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter or A Christmas Carol. They belong to J.K. Rowling and Charles Dickens respectively.

_A/N: Thanks for all the reviews last time! I can't tell you how wonderful it is to hear feedback. Thanks to everyone for reading! I edited this chapter hastily in order to get it up quickly so I ask in advance to please forgive any mechanical errors I may have overlooked. Hope you enjoy this._

**Chapter 27:** Christmas Eve

Lucius Mafloy was furious. Draco hated seeing his father like this, usually because he often found a way to set the blame of his outrage on Draco. Not this time.

Thankfully the blame was resting firmly with the family member they had been discussing only moments before, little did his father know. Draco found his own anger mounting as his father explained all his cousin had jeopardized. Everything they had worked so hard to create for themselves with this new law, and they were about to ruin all of it! It could not happen. Too much depended on Hermione.

"Perhaps, father, I could take her to the city tomorrow to keep her out of the house. She would not be snooping if she is not here and, as I would be accompanying her every moment, there would be no need for concern."

"Yes, indeed. We need her out with the guest that will be arriving tomorrow as he would be put off by her presence. There is a way in this as well that your cousins can remain here as the guest is very anxious to meet them. Draco there is only one way to ensure her safety and that is to have her with you at all times. Have you bedded her yet?" he asked plainly. Embarrassed Draco looked away.

"No then? Well tonight she must sleep in your room, do you understand?"

"Yes father." He replied automatically.

"Go and make sure she did not encounter trouble on her way to her room."

"Yes father, goodnight."

"Goodnight Draco. You are doing well with her, son." He commended.

"Thank you father." Draco wanted to smile, really he did. Only he found his face very tight and uncooperative.

He could only hope she had not met ill fate in the short distance between the library and her bedroom. He looked down each hall as he hurried along to make certain. Now, this business of getting Granger to sleep in his bed... How in the bloody hell was he going to do that? His father was clearly under the impression he could manage it with ease and he had no desire to cloud that image, however the reality of the situation would prove to be far trickier. Better start coming up with ideas, he told himself.

"Hermione you must come to my room at once for your safety." No, that was no good. There would be too many questions.

"Granger it's about time you join me in my room again, don't you think?" he tried, raising a single eyebrow seductively. Nope definitely not.

"Please do this one favor for me and I will take you anywhere you want to go in London tomorrow, anywhere." That may work, he thought, approaching her door. As she opened it cautiously and peeked out, wand protruding, he was pleased to see his warning did not go unheeded.

"It's just me," he whispered into her room. It was already dark.

"Draco? What it is?"

"I just wanted to make sure you made it to your room safely."

"Unsoiled, thank you." She reported smartly.

"Well, that's good then."

"Yes?"

"What?"

"Did you have something else to say?" Well, this was bloody awkward. She might be open to it she had just kissed him, he pondered. She had kissed him and that was a bold move for Granger. He hadn't seen it coming, not that he hadn't liked it…

"It is of the utmost importance that you grab a few things and come to my room immediately. Don't ask questions, just hurry. I'll wait out here." Her eyes widened. The element of surprise may get her out of there and into his room, then he'd just have to think fast to make her stay.

A few seconds later she was squeezing out of her door with a small bag of things and followed him to his room without a word. Smiling proudly to himself, he shut the door behind her and set about changing into his pajamas. She was already dressed in hers. She looked politely away as he did so, just as he suspected, shy as ever.

"Well?" she asked as he sprawled out comfortably on his bed, hands folded behind his head.

"Well what?" he asked nonchalantly. He had hoped the attitude would be infectious. It wasn't.

"Well what are you doing? Better yet, what am I doing, in _here_?"

"You're sleeping in here." Maybe it was best to be upfront.

"No I am not!" then again, maybe it wasn't.

"Yes you are unless you want to wake up to find one of _them_ in your room, looming over you while you sleep." Fear was a powerful tool.

"You can't control them?" she remarked somewhat nastily.

"Want to risk it?"

"Well, where am I supposed to sleep then?"

In what he believe was a friendly, inviting gesture, he patted the large space left on the bed.

"No!"

"Excuse me?"

"I am not sharing a bed with you." Well, that was rather rude.

"You have to."

"I What?" she demanded. Uh-oh. Perhaps that was the wrong choice of words, Draco.

"For your safety." He amended hastily.

"I don't have to share a bed with you. I'll just sleep on the couch."

"And what happened when my father comes in and sees you sleeping on the couch? Won't looked very good, will it?"

"Then you be gentleman and give me the bed."

"Will that look I have you under control?"

"Ohh." She fumed. "FINE!" she shouted, throwing a pillow on his bed.

"It's not like I'm thrilled either, Granger."

"Shut up. I have half a mind to go back to my room. I have a wand. I'm a big girl I can take care of myself."

"You're starting to sound like you do have half a mind."

"Draco…" he voice shook with warning.

"Look, here's the thing. Pl- look ,just peal-"

"Do you have a speech impediment Draco?"

"PLEASE!" he shouted at her. She jumped.

"What?"

"I said please, okay? Please, please, _please_ do this for me. Just sleep in my bed tonight and tomorrow I will take you to London all day and do whatever you want. Anything, just please don't fight me on this one thing."

"Are you serious?"

"Yes." He sighed pitifully.

"I never thought I'd see this day."

"What, that I'd say please?"

"No, that you are begging me to get in your bed."

"Shut up." He mumbled, throwing his pillow at her. She laughed, instantly relieving the tension. It was by and far the most awkward moment he had ever experienced. After all that time sleeping in the same room, getting in bed together was unfathomable. To keep it civil, he extinguished the lights the moment she was in and rolled over as to not be facing each other as both tried to fall asleep.

It wasn't until she thought he was asleep that he heard a noise that made his stomach turn over. He hated that sound, had always really hated it. Though he couldn't be sure why, crying made him feel sick, urgent. Immediately, his instinct was to cringe, and he did, but his following instinct he ignored whole heartedly. He did not reach out to her to comfort her, did not whisperingly ask if she was alright. She was not his responsibility.

He imaged she probably missed her parents, what with the holidays and his family present and all. What would he say to her if he had spoken? What possible words of comfort could he offer? He certainly had no idea how she felt, and quite honestly hoped he never would. He could not reassure her everything was to be alright. And what if he were simply to offer her some apologies and condolences, a shoulder to cry on, a warm embrace of comfort? He doubted she would want such a thing from him and he was not about to make a fool out of himself by offering sympathies that were unwelcome.

He lay very still on his side and kept his breath slow and even. He did not embarrass her by calling attention to her private grief. She had kept her sobs quiet, had waited for him to drift off. Actually, he had been feigning sleep. He felt too nervous to sleep. He couldn't imagine why. It was the funniest thing. He almost felt like laughing. This was not the first young woman he had had in his bed. What's more it was Granger. What could he possibly have to be nervous about? But he was. It was earnestly laughable. Preposterous. Still, what if he snored, had a nightmare, said something stupid in his sleep, said something he didn't want overheard…?

Merlin! That sound was really making him sweat. He dearly wished she would stop. Finally, he moaned and shifted, thinking that if she thought she was waking him up she might stop. She didn't. Instead, she was weeping now more audibly and frankly he was never going to get any sleep like this. Sighing with resignation to his awkward fate, he rolled over and took her shoulder gently as to not frighten her. She did not respond.

"Hermione," he tried in his most understanding voice. Again, nothing. Frustrated slightly at her blatant refusal to acknowledge his existence, he tugged her shoulder and, in the other hand, lit his wand. He was startled to find that she was deeply sleeping. Having nightmares, he presumed.

"Odd." He remarked. She whimpered again. With a low growl he accepted there was only one thing he could do if he wanted either of them to be well rested tomorrow. Leaning forward, he whispered in her ear.

"It's alright. It's alright Hermione." She instantly calmed some. Remembering what his mother did when he was sick child, and thinking that in the dark secrecy of his room no one but him would know, he stroked her forehead and hair lightly. She stopped fidgeting. "Get some rest." He concluded, rather pleased with his calming abilities, truth be told.

Draco awoke to his house elf Ninny placing a tray of breakfast at his bedside and stoking the fire.

"Morning!" the old elf greeted cheerfully when she saw he was awake and she proceeded to draw back the curtains a little to reveal a sky so cloudy one would barely notice it was day. "Not too cold are we, young master?" The elf asked. He was about to respond with a 'no' when he felt a body he had nearly completely forgotten shiver next to him.

"Just one more blanket." He requested. The elf nodded, was gone with a snap, and retrieved it instantly. Draco placed a warming spell on it and covered Hermione with it. The foolish girl had lost everything but the sheet sometime in the night. Accustomed though he may be in sharing his bed he had never quite mastered the art of sharing his bedding.

"And we'll need two trays this morning." He said to the elf.

"Ninny's already done so, young master." She replied. Sure enough on the opposite bedside table, the one he rarely used, another tray was set. Each breakfast was served with a white rose. He lifted it from the tiny glass vase on his tray and examined with a critical eye. An eyebrow raised in question. The elf looked shy.

"Ninny thought it was a nice touch. Winter roses."

"Hmm." He said thoughtfully. They were a nice touch. Charming actually. Smiling his most debonair, sly smile, he plopped his rose in with Hermione's. He then set to work on his breakfast, nudging her to wake up. She woke pretty readily without much coaxing. Perhaps she had slept lightly or perhaps the smell of the porridge was just too alluring to resist. It certainly smelled tasty enough to wake him. Cinnamon was his weakness. Apparently, it was one of Hermione's too. It was deliciously rich and warm, mixed with cream and brown sugar as usual, however, swirled on top, it also had bits of apple and cinnamon. On the side was a buttered English muffin with strawberry jam, a boiled egg, and a glass of chilly, fresh milk. The pair devoured what was on their plates with surprising speed in a pleasant silence. Neither was fond of talking the morning. Hermione thanked the house elf at length; embarrassing the proper elf and making Draco roll his eyes. They took turns in his bathroom just as they had so many times at school, falling back into a kind of rhythm.

He, being a gentleman, allowed her to freshen up first. She was quick for a woman, but he imagined that was partially due to the fact that she didn't do much to get ready. Still, it was nice not to wait an eternity. He got his clothes together and they switched. He hurried as well, not out of courtesy but because he figured, Granger being Granger, she would undoubtedly snoop if left alone too long. She was waiting patiently on his settee when he emerged from the bathroom. Soon, they were apparating to London. The Leaky Cauldron was as close to deserted as Draco had ever seen it, and they passed through quickly.

Diagon Alley wasn't as bustling as it once was. One could feel the presence of the Death Eaters growing. Still, it held a certain holiday charm and the shops that were open an inviting glow. Hermione smiled and he thought she really didn't look too awful when she did that.

"Where to first?" he asked with another dejected sigh.

"Draco," she swatted him playfully. "You know me better than to have to ask that!" Flourish and Blotts took forever, just as he feared, as she had not been in for a year. He really began to think he was going to rot away in that place.

"Please Hermione, I'm begging you. I think if I read another word I'll be sick."

"You said anywhere."

"I didn't say for all eternity. How much longer can you possibly look at books?"

"Do you really want to know?"

"Argh!" he groaned. "I'll do anything to get out of here. Anything!"

"Oh really?" she cocked an eyebrow. He hadn't known she could do that. "Will you take me to the muggle side of London?"

He gulped.

"Just to a show. My parents and I would see it every year-"

"It's not that blasted ballet is it? The nutty one?" He had already seen that ridiculous, dragging thing with Morrissa and had to listen to its greatness more than he ever wanted. He had no desire whatsoever to sit through it again and to hear a historical critique on it from Granger.

"The Nutcracker? No! It's A Christmas Carol."

"Hell Granger, I'll sing you a Christmas carol if you want."

"No, it's a book by Charles Dickens a really lovely story."

"Okay. Tell you what. We'll go by tickets this afternoon, go home and change, then come back for the show and no- I mean NO one- ever knows about this, understood?"

"Agreed."

"Alright. Now can we please get out of here?" She did, after a brief stop at the counter where she collected a total of eight heavy books on various subjects. He offered politely to carry them, but she graciously refused, placing a weightless spell on the bag. Yesterday, he had had to play a pack mule and carry the bulk of Morrissa's purchases. Granger had a streak of independence in her that, however annoying at times, could really be beneficial to his back as well.

He was doing it again, comparing the two. It was a foolish thing to do really but some things though were too obvious not to notice, like the fact that Hermione was all but finished with her shopping in half the time of his last trip. It was only just late enough for brunch to be served and neither was hungry yet so they strolled to the theatre nearby where they had both been on previous occasions and bought tickets for the evening performance of _A Christmas Carol_. Draco purposed a place he knew of for lunch and, without contestation, Hermione agreed. The place was the same one he had taken Morrissa. He admitted it; he was curious.

Hermione was unsure what to order. He could see it on her face, but she took him off guard by admitting it openly and asking what he would suggest. He made his suggestion and she ordered it. She made no comment on the quality of the wine and enjoyed her salad while they waited. The conversation dragged, usually about Christmas traditions and memories, but Draco couldn't help but feel the tiniet bit thankful Hermione had interest in ballet.

When the meal arrived Hermione threw a grateful smile at the waiter and commented to Draco how it was ready much quicker than she would have expected. He was pleased. She had not embarrassed him by speaking directly to the server, but she had been still found a way to be nice. Not once did she send her plate back, but savored every flavorful bite. His pork chops were quite literarily mouth watering and he insisted she try some. She only blushed a bit and then acquiesced, even offering him some of her chicken cordon bleu in exchange. It was rather good.

They were fairly quiet as they ate. Draco tipped generously, but she didn't notice. She was too busy actually extending her compliments to the chef. He rolled his eyes. It was as if she'd never been anywhere nice in life. Once outside and on their way back towards the Leaky Cauldron, Hermione turned to him.

"Well, we have a problem."

"What is that?" asked Draco.

"I can't get your present with you with me and it's hard to conceal so waiting outside isn't going to work…"

"Well, you are not disappearing on me Granger."

"I'll be fine for a couple minutes."

"No." He put his foot down. "I'm not having you run off, so forget it."

"You walk me to the store. I go in. You apparate back to the manor and I meet you there ten minutes later."

"No chance." He told her plainly. "Father has some rather important guests right now. Besides, either of us showing up alone would not look good."

"Well then what am I going to do?" she pouted. He could hardly believe his eyes. She was actually, physically pouting.

"Well," he laughed, as they walked into the old pub. "We could get ready here. I mean you could run off and we could get a couple rooms and get ready here. That way you could hide it- "

"Really?" she seemed almost giddy. It was truly ridiculous.

"Sure, if you promise to be back within fifteen minutes."

"Deal."

Draco approached Tom and requested two rooms for which he paid up front. He told her he would be across the hall in number eighteen then gave her the key to room number seventeen and instructed her to hide his gift in her room then come and get him from the bar. They could lounge until evening where they could order up a quick dinner and head to the play. She said excitedly that it sounded like a good plan. He thought so too.

Fifteen minutes later he had finished a pint when, as promised, a breathless but content looking Hermione came down the stairs of the in to fetch him from the bar.

"What now?" she asked, cheeks flushed with winter color rather prettily.

"Care to walk?"

"Sure." The two walked the cobbled streets of Diagon Alley this time as sightseers with no pressing matters and really took in the sights. It was nice to wander not rushed for once. The streets were darker than they once were, she said, a shadow of their former selves, but the holiday buzz as infectious as ever. She seemed to spot someone she knew at some point, but looked away catching sight instead of a Father Christmas figure in a shop window that pointed a wand at a molten golden block which, when you approached it, apparently took the shape of whatever you most wanted for Christmas. A handy tool, but both avoided it.

"Hermione," Draco felt compelled to offer as they passed a vendor.

"Yes Draco?"

"Would you like an ice cream?"

"That sounds lovely." She smiled, no satin gloves to worry about. He handed her a strawberry cone moments later. They ate inside where it was a good deal warmer. She licked away happily, relishing the delicious ice cream. At first, it made him smile, but then he wanted to squirm. She continued swirling her tongue around it, puckering her lips to it, not realizing as she was doing to that cone not, more importantly, what it as doing to him. Draco's eyes had gone wide, his mouth dry while she lapped innocently away, sucking the tip, stroking up the sides…

"Hermione," he coughed. His discomfort must have been painfully obvious judging by her expression.

"What?" she asked truly befuddled.

"Could you please stop _molesting_ your ice cream cone?" His words were tense.

"Oh." She looked down, embarrassed. "Sorry… have sensitive teeth…can't bite it…"she mumbled. He shook his head, clearing it. Afterwards, she offered him a grinning thank you. He found himself smiling back.

He didn't say you're welcome but instead: "You've got some on your nose." He wiped it away and they laughed. This time it did not relieve his tension.

The two then decided they had enough of the weather for the time being and retreated in doors, setting aside unnecessary layers and plopping down on a couch beside a fireplace. They watched people go in and out, excited children, hectic men running around at the last minute, and harried looking women trudging on tiredly. They shared the paper bit by bit. He found himself glancing up to look at her, glowing in the light of the fire and absentmindedly chewing her lip. She looked well rested and bright eyed, but her hair was refusing to cooperate today. It looked like something grown wild. That's when an idea occurred to him, a very clever one.

"I'll be back. I've just had a thought." She looked up surprised and vaguely interested from her paper but didn't protest. He went upstairs to his room from where he apparated to the manor. He grabbed Hermione's Christmas gift, summoned a house elf to get her dress along with his own dress clothes for tonight. He returned without announcing himself at home and hastened downstairs to tell Hermione his grand idea, but she was nowhere to be found. He became instantly unnerved. Where the devil had that girl gotten to? She was a magnet for trouble. He was only gone a few minutes! Where to run, the muggle side or the Diagon Alley side? He tried the muggle street first, but she was not to be found among the crowds milling down the sidewalk. He raced to Diagon Alley but nowhere down its long stretch could he spot her. Confused, he hastened back inside and bumped into someone talking to the bartender Tom.

"Excuse-"

"Draco?"

"Hermione?"

"You're back?"

"Hermione!"

"What?"

"Where have you been? I've been back and I was looking for you. You can't just wander off! Anything could have happened to you." He was furious, but she was smiling- _smiling._ What right did she have to be smiling at him like that? He threw her a dangerous look.

"You were worried." She stated simply. Ludicrous! The very idea of him being concerned, nay actually panicked about her well being, was the most ludicrous idea he'd heard and yet…He then shocked the hell out of himself. He didn't argue, didn't mock, and didn't try to deny it because the plain fact of the matter was: it was true. He had been worried.

"Yes Granger," he said seriously, taking her arm. "I was." She looked as taken off guard as he felt and she followed him in stunned silence up to the hall upstairs where both of their rooms were. "I've had an idea Granger." He announced. "Since it is Christmas Eve, let's exchange presents now!"

"Are you that curious?"

"Well yes. And, well, you'll see."

"Alright. We could do that. I'll get yours." He nodded and summoned hers from his room, already wrapped with a gold bow on the top.

"Happy Christmas!" they blurted in unison as she burst from her room. For a moment, Draco was yet again taken aback. Hermione held at arm's length a cage also wrapped in ribbon, this one green. It was a larger cage than one might hold an owl in, and in the dim light of the hall he did not at first see that there was anything in the cage. He swallowed in an attempt to offer her a strained, insincere thank you but her pride in displaying this gift was enough to warrant another look. Something fluttered. He peered cautiously inside its dark confines and caught the eye of a massive, dark bird. He was larger than an owl, longer in shape. In fact, as she moved forward into the light, he thought it most closely resembled a phoenix, if anything. Its feathers were a rich green and black.

"What is it?" he asked, not rudely.

"An Augurey. Also called an –"

"Irish phoenix." He finished for her. "Aren't they supposed to sing before death?"

"That's just an old wives' tale. Actually they sing at the approach of rain." Draco Malfoy in all his days, in all his wildest dreams, had never anticipated something like this. Hermione Granger had bought him the perfect gift.

"Oh, say something Draco. Do you like it?" He had neither the breath nor the words to say really. It was everything she knew about him: his favorite colors, his pride in his pets especially birds, his value of loyalty, even his strange fascination with rain. He wanted to blush it was so personal. And his gift…was nothing like Granger at all.

"How did you-" he finally managed to stammer out.

"I was just reading my Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, about the nundu, and it popped up. It seemed to fit you. I had to order it so they'd have it in when I came, but-you do like it, don't you?"

"It's perfect." He was too in shock to deny it. She smiled widely, brightly as he took the cage and set it down.

"Well what did you get me?"

"Oh I-you won't, I mean-"

"Come on, hand it over. I see it right there."

"Look, you won't like it, okay?" he snapped, embarrassed at his poor choice. She would surely take it as an insult.

"Then why did you get it? Oh, as a joke, right? Well come on, let's see how funny you are."

"No, it's just…how did you know what to get me?" he finally confessed.

"I know you Draco." She said simply, as if it were a silly question. "It was obvious. Now stop making me wait."

He nearly winced handing it over. She was going t be angry, he could feel it. And why wouldn't she? He might as well have given her a house elf head as well as it fitted her. He just hoped she didn't cry.

Carefully she removed the paper. What a Hermione-like way to unwrap a present, he thought. She opened the fine case inside to reveal the set. Her eyes widened. He watched her closely as she slide her hands along each item nested in the chest taking in its fine detail. And then, horror of horrors, he saw her eyes begin to glisten with tears. Shit! Who gave Christmas gifts that made people cry? He snatched it back from her before he knew what he was doing.

"Look, I'm sorry okay?" he snapped. "I didn't mean to upset you. It was a bad idea and-"

"I'm not upset."

"You're not?"

"No. I love them. They are beautiful. It's just,"

"Just what?" he sneered.

"No one has ever bought me something so, so nice, and so feminine."

He didn't have to respond, his eyebrows took care of that for him.

"It's always a book for the bookworm. It's never something, well something like this. Thank you Draco, they're the loveliest thing I've ever seen."

This was horrible; she actually meant it. In a stupor he handed the gift back. "Let me show you how to work it."

She laughed. "I may not be particularly well kept but I do know how to work a brush and comb thank you."

"No, they are enchanted."

"Oh!" she exclaimed, the added quickly, "They're not cursed are they?"

It was his turn to laugh. "No." In moments she was sitting at the dusty dresser in her room, her dress laid out on the bed and Draco's auburey sitting on the window sill. The beautiful pieces were resting a neat line and he stood behind her.

Remembering the shopkeeper's words he turned the mirror over and went straight for the brush. Taking a handful of her hair gently in one hand he noticed it was surprisingly soft. He made no comment. Then, with the other hand, he ran the brush through it. In only few stokes it was straight and smooth as could be. He went on to carefully brush every strand with a smirk spreading across his features until her hair flowed through his hands like silk. Then he let her see it. She gasped and grinned wide with excitement, hugging him. He gave her an odd look.

"Want to curl it?" he offered, comb in hand.

"No, you don't mean that comb-"

"Sit." He said. She did and combed the sections in haste, perfect curls springing up as he did so. This time she squealed with childish glee.

"I've always wanted to curl my hair like this! This is amazing. Will they always do that?"

"Sure."

"Wow. This is perfect." She played with her locks, examining them in the mirror.

"Well, now for the final touch." He took the perfume bottle in his hands. She lifted her head back and closed her eyes, exposing her throat and collar bone. He blinked. He sprayed the clear liquid on her creamy skin where it dried and shimmered. The fragrance nearly knocked him off his feet.

She opened he eyes and sniffed. "I don't smell anything."

"You can't." he informed her, putting the stuff back in place. "You smell great though."

She was leaning close to him. The smell was getting to him. "I better not smell like dragon dung."

"You don't," he assured her in a somewhat breathless voice. They really were unreasonably close.

'You are not thinking that,' he told himself. 'Absolutely not.' Even so he was leaning closer, their lips at a perfect angle until-

A strange cry filled the air, almost a wail but to beautiful and musical to be so grievous. The Irish phoenix sang in the corner. The sound gave him chills despite Hermione's research.

"Are you sure that's not an omen of death."

"Positive. Just an old wives tale." She reiterated.

"Perhaps we should go grab a bite to eat before we get dressed."

"Yes, okay." She said distractedly.

The meal left something to be desired. At least, he admitted, the stew was warm and the bread reasonably fresh. Plus, butterbeer was butterbeer anywhere, even they couldn't ruin that. It only took them a few minutes to dress and they were ready to attend the play. As they opened the door to the inn, it became apparent they'd be apparating as, just as the phoenix had predicted, it was pouring.

Turning on the spot with a loud snap, they found themselves under the awning of the theatre. The line was moving quickly due to the rain and they were inside within minutes. They had gotten a private box, of course. The show, which seemed familiar, was good he had to admit. It started interestingly enough what with the tortured ghost appearing and the end was good. Ebenezer Scrooge was a funny fellow, he reflected. Hermione looked as though she were falling in love through the whole thing, except for the bits with the ghost of Christmas yet to come during which he caught her crying. Afterwards, they decided to walk the few blocks back to the inn though it was freezing. Hermione wanted to see the city holiday lights at night. There certainly were a lot of lights to see.

"Did you enjoy it?" she asked anxiously.

He nodded. "Why do you love that play so much, Hermione?" he asked at last, though he thought he may already know the answer.

"Oh I don't know," she began. "Yes, I do!" she amended. "I love everything about it. It's fascinating from the first words 'Jacob Marley was as dead as a door nail'. But there's so much more. It begins by showing you how bad mankind can be, how self absorbed and compassionless, and then how good man can be. The opposite order of life, which makes you think everything is okay when you are young only to experience the cruelness and harshness of the world later."

He blinked. That was true though he hadn't really noticed it. She continued.

"The thing about Scrooge is he's not really a bad man. He's logical. He pays his taxes which give money to the poor, like he says. He runs his business wisely, legitimately. He doesn't go about harming people. He's not doing anything very wrong or terrible, but he's so self-centered. He doesn't seem to that when you abandon mankind it abandons you. He's so alone."

He thought he saw her shudder.

"But he changes, even someone like him can change, if their eyes are opened to more than their own business. We don't all get three spirits to visit us, but if we wake up and look at how much we affect everyone else, how much we can help... It wasn't his responsibility to save tiny Tim, but then again it sort of was, because he could help…It isn't enough to just what you have to for yourself. It's not even enough for you."

"Are you really so foolish to believe everyone can make a miraculous change?"

"If they care about someone they can." She said stubbornly, naively.

"That is the stupidest thing I've ever heard."

She looked hurt, but only half as hurt as felt. When they returned to the hotel they spotted her within seconds: Skeeter. They went directly upstairs and packed quickly. Draco checked out.

"Draco! With your fiancée or meeting you lover for a secret rendezvous?" the vile reporter threw at him. He ignored her. When they stepped outside to apparate back Hermione sneezed. They never should have walked in the cold, he knew.

Just like that, the evening was over as was, little did he know, so much else. They were in the entrance hall of his home the next moment. It was strangely quiet and he told her to take her things and go immediately to her room, don't stop. There was no telling who was in the house or what they might do. For once she listened, calling back a thank you. He shushed her, didn't allow her to finish. Something was wrong, he could feel it.

"Draco!" his father's voice cracked like a whip from the dining room. He felt himself pale. He waved Hermione on angrily and wordlessly. Get out of here, he mouthed. He could smell trouble.

His father stalked towards him looking livid, drunk, and something else he did not recognize. "Where have you been?" he spat, enunciating every syllable. Without giving him time to respond he struck him, but there was little force behind it. He hoped desperately his father did not hear Hermione's tiny gasp from the stairs. He had. He turned slowly, looked at her, and then back at Draco taking him utterly by surprise.

"You are to be married tomorrow, son." He said, taking another long drink from his glass of strong brandy.

"Tomorrow? Wh-"

"Aren't you happy my boy?" he asked, then, suddenly seized by fury, grabbed him by the collar and shouted in his face, breath assaulting him vigorously. "Aren't you happy!"

Draco felt himself shake. This man was not his father, not acting like him. Something was wrong, terribly. Behind him the tap of heels or marble bid him look. His aunt was there, dear, mad ole Bella.

"Aunt?" he inquired. She only giggled madly. Then he saw it. She was crying.

His stomach dropped, he literarily felt it. The floor moved under him, unsteadying his knees. He went very cold and still all through his body. Never had he felt fear like this.

"Mother?" he called. "Where is my mother?"

His father answered him, but there was hardly any need. He was already crying. "She's dead." He said.

_A/N: Once again, I have wanted to write this part forever. What did you think of the Dramione time? What was your favorite part? How about the end? Did you suspect it with all the foreshadowing? PLEASE let me know in a review! _

_Also, an augurey is not my invention, but another creature from J.K. Rowling's __Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them__ that she did not utilize. _


	28. Out of Time

**Disclaimer**: Please see previous chapters. Harry Potter is not mine.

_A/N: Thanks so much for the response to the last chapter. Yes, it was quite a big twist in the end. Not the last to come, I assure you… As for the mystery surrounding her death, we'll get to the truth of that soon enough. Anyway, I'm so pleased with all the lovely feedback that I posting this chapter early. It was quite difficult to write so I hope it makes sense and keeps your interest. Now, to back to Hermione._

**Stolen**

**Chapter 28:** Out of Time

She could honestly say knew how he felt. Her reaction had been, oddly enough, almost the same when Remus had called her to the side that evening at Grimmauld place. There was that same feeling in the air that had hung in the Malfoy's entrance hall when they arrived, a strange stillness. She had wanted to run before he said anything. Felt faint, cold. Wanted to sink to her knees, melt in to the wall behind her, crawl in the cabinet of Kreacher's nearby and never come out. Just like Draco, however, she had stared in disbelief and rather than screaming and hitting someone in the face, she had walked calmly away, crying soundlessly. It wasn't real, she reasoned. It couldn't be. That's why she couldn't fall apart yet. It was just cruel joke.

She followed Draco to his room, though he appeared not to see her. His face had a dangerous looking scowl on, but she knew it to be hiding his grief. She let herself into his room.

He was staring out the window on a hideously clear and quiet night. He seemed to be talking more himself than her when he muttered, guiltily. "We were laughing, watching a play. We sat calmly in our box as she died, probably screaming for me. I should have been there." It sent chills down Hermione's spine. Irony.

Oh how she knew what he meant! So many times she had thought of what may have happened had she been home that night her parents were killed. She should have been at home with her family, she had told herself angrily as she was certain Draco was doing now.

"It's not your fault. You couldn't have known. Even if you had been there it may not have made a difference. It may have been harder for her." She tried to comfort him with the same words Remus offered her, and Harry. In the end all she could offer was a heartfelt but meaningless, "Draco I'm-I'm so sorry."

"Stay away from me." He told her with sick abhorrence.

"Wh-what?" she stuttered, at a total loss.

"Your friends killed my mother!" he turned and roared.

"And yours killed mine and my father!" she snapped back, instantly covering her mouth in shock. Then, softer, she offered, "Do you know it was them? Do you know it was my friends? Last time I checked Voldemort would kill his own people as fast anyone else if he felt the need."

"Father won't say what happened, but that could not be it. My father would have interfered!" he concluded with fervor, perhaps trying to convince himself.

"Maybe." She squeaked in little more than a whisper. She knew it was dangerous, but she had to plant that seed of thought in his mind. He literally growled. "Or maybe he didn't know." She quickly went on, moving forward with a face filled with genuine concern. "Maybe it all happened too fast."

He turned away.

"Or maybe you're right and the Order as responsible." She could feel the hatred pulsating off of him in hot waves. "Hell, maybe it was Harry or Ron who cast the curse. But if that happened I can assure you of one thing: it did not happen with her back turned, in her own home. It was not a trick. She was dueling with them and she chose to fight. People who live by the sword… on both sides…" she drifted off, left it hanging. She moved closer to him cautiously, taking his arm softly. He tore away from her grasp. She closed her eyes in hurt.

"I didn't wish her any harm." She wanted- no needed- him to know. "Look I'm not saying it was fair or okay even, but how is turning on me on our friendship going to change that? I know you are angry. Really, trust me I know. You're thinking of doing things you never before dreamed yourself capable of, but think about what you do for heaven's sake! Think about the choices you have."

"And if I chose to go against them what will happen to me, to my family?" At last he was speaking about it, what this whole puppet show had been intended to dance around. There it was before them in the open, the real question that had been there ripping him apart all along.

She leapt on it, prepared as ever. "A world in which Voldemort reigns is one in which everyone must live in fear, as we have been living. You know what that is like: carefully making each move because it might be your last, the lives of your family depending on a single madman's mood. Yes, you may live in such a world if you win his favor but for how long can you keep that favor, at what cost, and what kind of life is that? Is that what you want for yourself, for your family when you are head of the Malfoys? Is it fair to choose that sort of life for your children?" She was going for the appeal to his loyalty, his fear. She knew him well in that regard.

"So I should choose what? To live in world where Harry Potter is everyone's king and savior?" he spat, facing her again. "Where pure blood means nothing anymore? Where beasts and slave elves and mudbloods run Hogwarts and only part of our past is honored because Slytherin is unpopular? Where my children are looked down own for their noble heritage because it's not common or mixed enough; one where the contributions of my ancestors, their sacrifices, are utterly forgotten because it's no longer politically correct to honor them? Your friends will never fully trust me, never grant me respect. Don't you see? No matter what I do or what I chose I can never be on your side because I'm not welcome. They want to hold me accountable for the sins of my father."

"And you don't wish the same thing by holding mudbloods accountable for the death of your ancestor?" she threw back at him.

"Hypocrites!" he hissed. "Does not Potter hate Snape for holding him to his father's name? You said being a Malfoy doesn't mean aim selfish or untrustworthy, but being a member of the Order doesn't make you brave of honest. Look at Wormtail. They are killers too and some of them enjoy it just as much. Sirius. Moody. There is no difference between your side and mine."

"You can't honestly believe that." She scoffed. "Have you learned nothing from me? The difference is what we're fighting for!"

"And what are you fighting for?" he shouted. Then, desperation evident on his face, he repeated softly. "What are you fighting for?"

"Well I- I'm fighting because everything and everyone I love is being threatened."

"Likewise." He spat.

"But don't you see the difference? Look at who what you love, what it does to people, as opposed to me. If you were on our side no one would harm you, while I can't become a Death Eater even if I wanted to. Look who you're following and what he does, what kind of misery and destruction follow in his wake. Hypocrite? Well there is no bigger hypocrite than Voldemort. Tom Riddle is a mudblood. You cannot honestly buy the sales pitch about pureblood society, a utopia. That may have been his childhood dream but he's moved beyond that now. He wants power and control. He wants revenge against Harry. The more power he gets the more he fears the loss of it. You, his followers, are not his friends, he has no regard for your wants. He's never had a friend in his life. You are merely his pawns, to be disregarded without hesitation should business require it. You think he cares about family? He has no family of his own. He killed his family, grew up and orphan, made no family of his own. How can you trust someone who loves nothing? He cares about no one but himself."

"But my father swore him allegiance. Am I to turn on my blood? What am I then? What do you want from me? Do you not understand who I am, who I was born to be? I am a Death Eater, a Malfoy, a pureblood snob, a muggle hater! I loathe Potter. I am a Slytherin, not a ruddy Grfiyyndor, by choice! These are my decisions. My loyalties have been decided for me. I am who I am, not this man you want me to be. "

"You're wrong. You are a Malfoy, a pureblood, a snob, and a Slytherin, but you're not like them. You're not a killer. You don't hate me. If you don't get out now, you'll become one. He'll steal your soul, suck it from you. Not like a dementor attack but slowly, gradually. He'll turn you into a bad person."

"I AM A BAD PERSON!" he snarled in a way that would make anyone watching not the least bit doubtful of that affirmation.

"No you're not." She continued to protest stubbornly. "You're not a hero or a saint- neither am I- but you are a good person. Why are you trying to lie to me? Because you're afraid of what will happen if everyone knows you have a heart?"

"Standing up to him is no use! You will all fail. You have not seen the horrors that befall those who oppose him- I have. That fate I would do anything to avoid."

"Listen to me though. There is a way out. We can beat him. We know his secret. And I can show you how, but I'm going to need your help."

"I can't help someone who killed my mother."

"I helped your family." She reminded him quietly.

"My family didn't kill you parents Granger." He spat at last. She knew he wasn't supposed to tell her, could see it on his face that he had been holding it in for some time, but he was hurt and wanted to see her hurt, know the ugly truth as he had to face it. Maybe he still didn't want to be alone. "The ministry did, under Voldemort's thumb, and then they used their deaths to propel support for their stupid law. Protection Act my aunt ninny. They needed Potter's support, McGonagall's. Still know who you are fighting for?"

She gulped at the hard rock in the back of her throat, swallowed the bile threatening to rise. "Not for the corrupt and ignorant ministry. I'm fighting against evil, which triumphs when good men do nothing. And I'm… scared for you Draco. You wait too long to chose sides."

"Are you asking me to forget her?"

"No one you kill can bring her back, nor my mother, nor Harry's, nor Voldermort's. I'm asking you, as me to you and you alone, help me do this. Help me end this, all this. Please Draco, we can do this. You don't have to be friends with Harry or condemn your mother or change your name. You think you'll just be friendliest with whoever is winning but what you don't understand is you are the one who can decide who wins."

He had no response.

"I guess you have some thinking to do. And I'm sorry about your mother Draco, I really am."

That was it then. He was right. He made his decision. There was nothing else she could do.

"I believe you Granger." She turned.

"Well the rest I'm not sure but I – I believe you're sorry. I don't know why you would be," truly puzzled. "But you are. I can tell."

She offered him the slightest comforting smiled. His eyes shone again, his face scowled. "But you're wrong about me. I _am _a bad person."

"What are you talking about?" And then she saw it. He had a secret.

Still chocking on his tears he asked her, "Don't you understand? Hermione, Hermione, how daft and brilliant can you be at once? There will be no wedding between us tomorrow. There was never going to be any wedding at all."

"What do you mean?" He burned with shame, anger, and grief. She didn't know what part of him to believe. She hushed the malicious whisper in the back of her mind surfacing again. He must be lying, she told herself befuddled. She clearly remembered his mother drawing up plans for a wedding.

"You're lying! What were those plans you made for if not a wedding?"

"They were for my wedding, but you and I are never to be wed. It was never going to be that way to begin with. Why didn't you see it? I tried so hard to make you see it. You read that damned book, didn't you, 'the mark still remains'? Do you think my father would ever consider having me really marry a mudblood? Why didn't you figure it out?" He pleaded now, his voice strained as if breaking. She wasn't quite hearing him. What was he saying?

"Father only did this to get out of prison and be safe with the ministry again. I'm sure you surmised that much, but you really didn't think Voldemort would approve of that, did you? No, we had to give him a reason. We told him it was to gain access to the ministry, manipulate you, and then, consequently Potter. I blame him for this mess! If it wasn't for him none of this would have happened."

"Voldemort or Harry?"

"Both." She shot him a look, but he did not return with the usual sneer, instead his brow wrinkled into a deep and conflicting concern. It unnerved her.

"The Wedding was for me and Morrissa Gouge." She felt her breath hitch, but carefully concealed it. There was a crack in her universe and her grasp on the world was torn momentarily. The pain had reached her well guarded heart and she was confused and devastated by it.

"So that's why she acted as she did at our engagement party. That's why you were out with her. And the Death Eaters! The guests! They knew all along. They were mocking me; hiding ugly laughs behind those hideous masks. I don't think I ever felt so humiliated." She huffed, her eyes literarily burning with shame, it spread to encompass her whole quaking body. She tried to steal herself. She felt dirty.

Draco crossed the room in one swift and jagged movement. He grabbed her by her upper arms, pinching her skin painfully and drawing her whole body up to gaze directly into his heated, livid face. He had never looked so powerful or strong as he did at that moment, but his eyes were no longer burning smoke. They were a wild and foaming sea. His form pressed to her shook with rage, his voice threatened to break, and his eyes glistened like a madman. Suddenly that passion that usually filed her at such a sight, died. It was no longer an exciting fear, it was heartbreaking to see such torn and tortured panic etched on his visage. He looked like a caged wild beast lamenting and yet fighting its fate hopelessly.

"Draco? What's the matter with you?" she asked in her strained voice. Without answering, he shook her body forcefully. She could feel the places where bruises would soon spread. "Draco?"

"You don't even know what you've done, do you? You don't even know! Tell me you see it now!"

"See what?" she snapped, ignoring the pain in defiance.

He let go, almost pushing her away from him. No training in the world, nor any book, nor all of her wit, could have helped to brace her for the blow that followed. He was crying. Tears, real tears, were actually coming from his eyes. Never had Hermione seen a man cry like this.

She couldn't seem to cry. Though overwhelmed and heartbroken, her face remained dry, the lump would not rise. She only felt shock and upheaval, but somehow numb. It was as if she were watching the disaster of her life from afar.

In the face of everything that had happened, all the trails he had gone through, and all the burdens he had been forced to bear, there was one that had broken him down. Unable to look away, she stared at wet face as if it was an anomaly of nature, something that plainly shouldn't be there but existed all the same. She hated the tears and felt nothing but sympathy at the look of anguish now smothering his features.

"Draco? What's wrong?" she placed a hand apprehensively on his shoulder. His body shook and her heart leapt in an unusual emotion that could only be compared to fear. What had taken Draco, so quick to anger by default, to crying before her? When at last he spoke, his words did nothing to console. In fact, although she did not imagine it possible, she felt worse.

"I'm so sorry, Hermione. I'm so sorry."

"What are you talking about?"

"My father began this plan with the intention of saving us. At first, we had to convince Snape, then Voldemort, then you. Think Hermione. Snape needed to be used to make sure the Order would go in on it and Voldemort would only allow this plan to go forth with one condition. It was a very smart request. It proved our loyalties, eliminated all problems that may stem from it, propelled his personal plans, and alleviated all the dissention other Death Eaters were feeling.

"Tomorrow, you will prepare for a wedding that will never take place. You will be taken out onto the grounds for the ceremony to find yourself immersed in quite a different one. The only way for him to be sure of this plan is for him, is if you die-"

Hermione gasped.

"And I kill you. Only then will they have the reassurance they need."

"But the ministry-"

"Will fall tonight."

"For certain?"

"As we speak. Your fate will be sealed with that owl. It is what father has been waiting for, to show where our allegiances truly lie. It was the only way to protect the Malfoy clan, to play both sides until the stronger of the two emerged."

"And you Draco?"

"What about me?" he spat with vehemence, but she persisted.

"Where do your loyalties lie?"

"The same place your do! With my own welfare, and my family! If Harry were a Death Eater you'd follow him to the grave!"

"I would not!"

"You would! Stop lying to yourself."

"Why would say that?"

"Because I know you'd try to save me, heaven knows how far you'd go for someone you truly loved."

He might as well have slapped her. She had no comeback.

"But there was a problem, a glitch in the brilliance I did not foresee. I don't even think I saw it when it was right before me. I chose not to see it I think. It was easier that way. I didn't have to think or feel anything, I could continue to manipulate you knowing all along it was me that would have to kill you if the ministry fell. If I told myself I did not pity you, or care at all, then I could bare it. But now…"

"What's changed?"

He turned to her honestly for perhaps the first time. "I knew for sure you wouldn't do that to me, not even for yourself, or your friends. That sort of compassion and loyalty it reminded me a lot of someone I once read about. I did not think you capable of such strength, Hermione." He hung his head.

"Of course not. You were taught muggles were incapable of it. Your blood does not determine your character. We both showed each other that." He rose and touched her face, very tentatively, as is fearful she may disappear. He studied her intently, not really seeing her, before turning away.

"This is so unfair." He lamented.

"So unfair? For you? For YOU!" She was irate now, and it was his turn to feel his eyes widen in shock. She was shaking, reddening in the face, her hair flying recklessly lose from her ponytail as she shook it violently. "You have stolen my entire life from me!" she yelled directly into his face, ironically unaware of how true that really was.

"And you-" he spat with deliberate vehemence and raw disgust "have stolen my heart!"

There was no joy in the declaration, not an ounce of comfort. There was nothing she could say in response. Absolutely nothing. She just stood there, staring like she had been looking at him all this time but had never actually seen him. He plopped dejectedly on the floor and, with a very surreal feeling she lowered herself on her knees to his level. It was now or never. This was her last chance. He had been honest with her, but could she trust him with their greatest secret?

"Draco," he turned and faced her. "Please Draco, there is another way." He did not give her the chance.

"What other way? What other way is there? There is no way out of this. None. Tonight the ministry will fall and tomorrow you will die."

"Then why tell me?"

"Because … because you are right. I do not particularly want to kill anyone, least of all a friend. But,"

"But?" He avoided her gaze.

"But if you were to escape I could not help it. If you were to find a way out and I had no idea, then no amount of probing could notify them of your hiding place nor find me guilty. If your brilliance could make another show before dawn, then…" he trailed off, eyes begging her to understand.

"I understand." She said detachedly. "Goodnight Draco." She said, standing.

He leaned forward, eyes sparkling with grief. "Kiss me." He said it softly and so quietly she barely dared to believe it was said at all. When she did believe it she felt no temptation. Her body clamed up, her face contorted with a grimace she slightly turned her head. She could feel him glare at her, so she did the only thing she felt she could do: fled the room, slamming the door behind her on the angry and grieving young man who had failed her and yet tried to save her…

Back in her quarters she paced, thinking hard. Perhaps Draco would return, perhaps the elf would bring word that he had decided to flee with her and live under the protection of the Order she dared to dream, but of course no such dream could be believed. Hours passed with no sign he had come to his senses.

Emotions began to flood back as the shock wore off, leaving her trembling and sobbing, overwrought. Her mind came back as well though, and it did not take long for her logical side to come to the conclusion that she needed Snape to get her out of there. But how? How could she communicate with the Order without being discovered?

The dairy! Rushing to her desk she extracted the diary and flew to the last page. Grabbing her quill, she quickly scribbled: "Had a horrible fight with Draco. Feel as though he is not who I thought he was. I feel trapped by this marriage which is now planned to be moved forward to tomorrow. I must get out!"

She hoped that would suffice. Hermione sat on her bed and waited anxiously, tears burning her eyes and breathing unsteady. She seemed to wait forever, heart thumping away loudly in her chest, wanting to be ripped out, to bleed freely. Snape would come, she assured herself. He'll come she prayed. He 

must come, she begged. Death had never felt so near, so _real._ It was the like cold draft on her back, the frost pressing in on the windows, and she was powerless to stop it.

At long last, her door flung open. Snape was angry, wet from the ice outside. "What is it?"

"Did you know?" she stood to face him, weeping silently but brave nonetheless. He was taken aback, shutting the door.

"What has happened?" he demanded.

"Did you know? They planned to kill me all along. Tomorrow, in the garden." She shuddered. She had walked with Draco there many times and along he had known.

He sighed. "It was not supposed to be tomorrow. Lucius just told me. Narcissa was killed so he upped the date for the wedding. He's out for your blood."

"Did you know?" she asked. There had to someone on her side, someone she could truly trust, didn't there?

"At the wedding only, if the ministry fell." He answered simply, confirming her fears. "We have tried to keep that from happening, but about the same time as your diary entry we got an owl that informed us the Dark Lord took control tonight. We planned to get you before then."

"Can you get me out now?" she asked with her voice steady though everything else in her quaked. He must have seen it, looking at her, but did not respond. "Can you get me out?" she demanded softly.

"I will try." He said, obviously thinking fast beneath the placid surface.

She began to cry openly now. How could she not? She had been betrayed and now she was going to die! Never, in her worst nightmare, has she dreamed such a fate would be hers.

"Quiet." He shushed her with surprising gentility though he made no move to comfort her. "We'll apparate from here. It will completely blow my cover, but it's the only immediate and sure way out that I see. Get your things. Make sure to bring the diary. We leave no links behind."

She nodded, racing to collect said things, but she stopped suddenly and peered over her shoulder at the man who was staring into the fire. Taking deep, calming breaths she stood. A strange feeling washed over her, she could feel it move over her and immerse her body and mind, as if everything had suddenly became very clear and simple. It was a surreal, emotionless epiphany.

"No." she told him. He snapped back around, livid.

"What do you mean no?"

"I'm the one who failed, not you. Your position is too important to the Order to be sacrificed. Without an informant inside the circle of Death Eaters we are lost."

"Don't be selfish Granger. If anyone deserves to get out of this life of deception it's me. I've paid my dues." She wasn't falling for that.

"You have nothing outside of this. You plan to die in this war. This mask is all you have."

With barely contained fury, he began to raise his voice, "Do NOT PRESUME to tell me who I am, girl!"

"I'm sorry professor," she continued quietly. Her demeanor was unnerving him. He seemed to think she'd finally cracked. She didn't really care. She knew what she had to do. Hermione Granger had never failed yet, and she wasn't about to start giving up on people now. Not when they had just given her hope. If she did that Draco was right, what was she fighting for?

"But I'm not leaving him. He doesn't want to do this. Maybe he won't. Maybe he'll back out of it, be a coward at least, but not a murderer."

"Draco?" he scoffed in disbelief. "Oh I'm sure he'll back out of it, but he'll only end up dead and then Lucius will kill you. Don't be a fool." He snarled in disgust at what he apparently considered weakness.

"But maybe he won't. Maybe we can disappear. I'll pretend I know nothing of the plan and come to the ceremony for my 'wedding', then I'll use the portkey you slip us to make us both disappear into London and from there-"

"Then it's not his choice, is it? That is the point, was it not? Besides, a portkey will be detected by their _security." _She had strong inclination he was referring to 'Angels of Justice'. "Face the facts, Granger, and walk away before this gets any worse."

"I will not give up on him. He tried to save me by telling me everything. You think if I escape one of you won't be killed for this? You forget who I am. I'm not stupid."

"No, but you are stubborn as hell. Look Granger, Draco is not a noble soul. He tricked you and lied to you. You owe him nothing. This was a game, not some great romance. Stop trying to be a martyr! I promised the Order I would get you out and I am not about to go back to Harry Potter and tell him I failed!" he fumed.

"Neither will I! And Draco, he's just confused, torn. He's been brainwashed into thinking he owes this to his family. He loved his mother. No doubt Voldemort suspected he would have trouble taking a life and the bastard killed her to spark Draco's fury."

"Even the most bloodthirsty Dragons coddle their own young, Hermione. You've been brainwashed by his own manipulation into thinking he's a good man."

"He's not a killer." She affirmed. He paid her vow little attention, as if she was a naïve child swearing f the existence of the Eater Bunny.

"He will be." He declared with an air of absolute certainty. "You can't save him. It's time to go home." He stated it plainly, a fact. It was logical, reasonable. But there was something else there besides logic and reason in Hermione's, something less clear.

"I have to try! It the only hope he has in our side is that we do sacrifice for others, even those who don't risk themselves for us."

"It won't work. The Dark Lord himself will be there. A portkey could never be slipped in undetected. You could go to Draco now and try to talk to him, see if you can coax him to leave, but other than there is not time for a plan. That is unless you have someone, perhaps someone more skilled, drink a polyjuice potion and take your place."

"I could not ask that of anyone."

"Are you sure?" he raised an eyebrow. She was offended he was not sure of it.

"Yes!" she affirmed.

"Then get your things! It's time to go." He grabbed her arm.

"No!" she resisted, drawing her wand.

"What has gotten into you?" he asked breathlessly, a low growl of frustration begging to rise in his throat.

"Maybe if we lied and said I was pregnant with Draco's child!" It was one of her more brilliant plans for certain. "Lucius Malfoy would never let his own precious young be killed, even if it was only half blood. It would be an abomination. If he believed that, then he would let you slip in the portkey right under Voldemort's nose. Draco could go to his father tonight and beg him, then Lucius would surely come to you and ask you to take me to the Order…"

"Not a bad idea Granger," Hermione felt a spark of triumph. "That is, until he performs a simple spell to see if you're lying." The spark died.

"Isn't there some sort of potion that could help me fake a pregnancy?" she appealed.

"Yes, if I had a lab and tree weeks to brew it." He informed her promptly.

"Oh." She said, her hope faltering like an injured bird and then plummeting to earth.

"You're out of straws, Granger, and out of time."

_**IMPORTANT **__A/N: So this was a fairly short chapter, but it was very important. Actually, this chapter and the next two of part III are pretty much the climax of the story. There were many BIG revelations in this part, so much so I thought of naming it Revelations part I. I __**have**__ planned on this from the beginning, just to let you know. Does Draco's wishy-washy behavior make some sense now? But what are Hermione and Draco going to do next? Leave a review and you'll find out soon!_


	29. Nothing to Be Frightened Of

**Diclaimer: **Please see previous chapters.

**A/N: **First, I have to really thank you yet again for your marvelous reviews. That was the best response yet. Now, I have to warn you.

Warning: Dark themes ahead.

**Chapter 29:** Nothing to Be Frightened Of

Choking. That's what it felt like. Like he had no air and couldn't break the surface. Like the spell he had taught Granger where thought there was no water, it was pressing in upon your lungs. That's must be what was happening; he was drowning.

He told himself it was not happening, because of course it couldn't be. Because his mother was one of those few select people in one's life one cannot fathom loosing, he told himself it was impossible for her to be gone. Someone else easily, but not her. She had always been there, so he had been quite sure she always would be. Then, just like that, she wasn't and would never be again. Never again.

"Mother," he whispered into the emptiness of his room as he sobbed like a child.

He reminded himself of the mad man who whispered for his "rare and radiant maiden" in that poem Hermione had read. That was what his mother had been, a rare and radiant maiden. He now understood now the man's cries, feeble hopes, despair. And what had the raven told him when he asked if he was to see her again? What had he said?

"Nevermore."

No! It just could not happen, but it was already done. There was nothing he could do to save her though, Merlin's beard, he would do anything if he could. Just anything. He should have been there, he berated himself for the hundredth time, not gallivanting with that mudblood. He wondered now, tried to calculate in his head the numbers of days, hours he had spent with his mother recently. Their last outing he had been so concentrated on that foul girl they had barely had a moment's peace together. And today, Christmas Eve, he had been out giving Granger her last day on earth, only to ruin everything by telling her the truth. He had failed his family.

He was supposed to be their salvation, sacrificing his own happiness to secure their well being. Such selflessness, his mother had told him, would make him a man. He had wanted so badly to become a man, but now he could not remember why. Is this what a man was? This pain, was that what being a man felt like? Resposible for so much.

He was supposed to make Granger believe he was falling for her, lulling he into a false sense of secuirty so the ever turning wheel of her sharp mind would not deduce their real intentions. That alone had been challenging enough, for her saw her wanting to trust him, believing he could be saved from those she viewed as evil. It made him sick, but he pittied her as well. That's when he had begun to leave her hints, unintensionally at first. He would be doing a wonderful job and suddenly remember what that menat- that she trusted him and he would have to kill her. Without reason he had become angry and taken that anger out of her. Still, she did not see it. Perhaps even her astute mind could not fathom such betrayal. Perhaps she truly never saw it coming.

As if that wasn't enough, making her believe he liked her, he was also supposed to seduce Granger, make her fall for him. If Voldemort was to fail, they would need her loyalty. But this had proved to be an even harder task, for Granger was not like others girls and the more he discovered about her oddity, the more surious and fascinated he grew. Frustrated his first attempts at this were pathetic to put it nicely, but his fasination made him more determined. Again, he had shwed her his bad side, tried to scare her away, but she was as determined him. It was a challenge, a game. All this time he had been playing, and now people were going to die.

Wrong, people already had died. The one person he could never bare to hurt. The one person who had known the truth. His mother and Draco could not help but blame himself. If he had been in control of his emotions, had he been obeying his orders, he would have been with his mother. He should have been with his family-that's where he belonged. It was the only place he belonged.

Unable to hold this burden alone any longer, he rose. With feet and a heart of lead, he drug himself to his father's study and knocked warily. His father called him in. The man was still drinking, pacing too by the looks of it. His eyes were bloodshot. Taking a deep breath, Draco made his confession.

"I'm sorry I was not there, Father. I should have been there."

"No, I'm glad you weren't here. It was ugly."

"Here, father?" Draco shook his head, certain he must have misheard. She had been killed in battle, had she not?

"Yes. The Dark Lord." His father said. Draco shivered.

"Your mother," he paused there, saying the word with cruel mockery, "got herself killed. Executed. Like a common criminal." He rambled drunkenly, glaring vehemently at the red, crackling embers of the fireplace. Seized by sudden fury, the man staggered unsteadily as he violently threw his glass into the fire, which flared and hissed indignantly. "I told her to be quiet!" he roared, his back to his son. "But SHE just couldn't shut her mouth!" he spat hatefully, and then grew quiet, his back trembling with withheld sobs as he clutched tightly to his desk.

"Wh-what did she say?" stammered Draco tentatively, eyes on the fire. He had asked the question now. He had known he would not be able to live not knowing, but could he live with answer?

"'Wait-'she said. And that's all she said. He proposed giving Granger to your cousins as we wouldn't need her after tonight and she said wait. Wait." he whispered again.

"And he killed her?" Draco asked also in a hush, horrorstruck. "Just like that?"

Lucius nodded at him, his face half turned towards Draco now. He half whispered, truly perplexed, "I don't understand. For a stupid mudblood…"

His eyes were glistening, and he began to shake oddly. Was he having some sort of fit? No, Draco realized eyes widening in fear. He was laughing, laughing madly.

"Like, like a dog." Hsi father cackled drunkenly, dryly. It frightened Draco to the core. He had never seen his father act like this. "Like a DOG!" he shouted, slapping his thigh and looking expectantly at his son, as if it were a joke Draco did not get. He clutched his sides rolling with laughter even as the tears poured down his face. Draco turned and left his father.

As he walked the familiar steps back up to his room, he could not help but think that he had lost everything. His mother was dead, his father gone, and in the morning his only friend would be gone from his life forever, for surely Hermione would leave. She was a smart witch, practical. She would find a way and she would escape. She was probably fleeing already. What reason had she to stay after had had betrayed her so? Regardless, tomorrow when he woke he would be utterly alone. She had been right, of course. He had lost everything. Draco Malfoy now understood the Dark Lord's cruelty and the consequences of the life he had chosen, but it was too late. He had already chosen it, or it chose him. Destiny, some would call it, those hopeful fools that think everything happens for a reason. What reason cold their possibly be? What could justify these things that had happened? Sacrifice for a greater good? The consequences of sin?

But his mother…what had she done? Uttered a single word. A single word that had concerned the Dark Lord, a single word that was quickly made her last action on earth. He did not need to question what his father would always wonder: why had she said wait. He knew. She had said it for the same reason she had done everything in her life, for him; for her son, because she loved him.

"Mother?" he had asked as she put him to bed one night when he was only ten, feeling dreadfully apprehensive of the sorting ceremony he was to face soon.

"Will you still love me if I get sorted into Gryffindor?"

She shushed him and drew the covers up, doubtlessly wishing to ignore such musings, but the fear evident in his face made her answer him with a whisper and a smile. "Yes, darling. I will love you even if you are in Gryffindor. But you will not be. You must think very hard when you go up there about young Casus Malfoy, very hard Draco, and the hat will feel your love and your pride in your family before it is fully sat on your head. He will put you in Sltyherin then, where you belong."

Draco had smiled at his mother, feeling better. She had been right too, of course. As she doused the light he had suddenly been seized by a wild notion and had to ask her. He was not afraid to ask his mother anything. "Mother!"

"Yes, little one?"

"What if I were a filthy mudblood?"

"Language Draco, you are a young gentleman." she lightly rebuffed.

"Sorry," he smiled into the darkness. "I mean muggle-born."

A hand took his and she whispered very quietly so no one and nothing overheard her, "Even if you were a squib or a muggle-born, I would love you my son." Draco had fallen asleep then, because he felt safe. He felt that as long as his mother was around, he would be loved and protected no after what. He had always needed her reassurances as a child, been such a coward without them. Hell he was a child now! And a coward to boot! After all she had done for him, now she had died for him as well. Why? He thought this heart may literally shatter. He could feel its sharp pieces inside him now.

She had said wait because she had known, even before he did, what he would do. She had seen it in him before anyone else could spot it, because he had always known him so well. Draco was not a good liar and to his mother it was all the more obvious that he had begun to fall for a mud-blood. And what was worse, she had understood. She had to have, because she had told him all those years ago when she had said that she would love him even with impure blood. She had known such love could exist.

"Oh but mother," he said to his empty room. "Such love could never survive."

His anger burst from him in manifestation of power, breaking the vase on his bedside table, toppling the tea tray. Then with his hands he grabbed things sitting on his table and threw them into the fire. Next, he went for his bed curtains, pulling the thick fabric with all his might until he heard that gratifying rip. He kicked the other inn table over, punched his wireless. He was sweating, bleeding, panting when he stopped. In his own misery, Draco lay on his bed and wept until a tiny hand gently touched his back. His heart leapt and he jerked around, but it was only the house elf, nursing his wounds.

"Oh poor master Malfoy." She said softly, crying herself. He brushed her off.

"Let them alone. They will heal."

"Yes, sir."

"Ninny,"

"Yes sir?"

"Bring me Knobby."

"Knobby sir?"

"Yes, right away."

"Yes sir!"

The elf was before him in a matter of seconds. "Leave us." He instructed the older one. She did so with an obedient bow of the head and a prompt snap into thin air.

"Young master called?"

"Yes, Knobby. I wanted to ask you something."

"Ask Knobby something Sir?" the elf asked, puzzled.

"Yes. You are aware Knobby, are you not, that certain elf passages of the manor lead to the outside?"

"Of course sir."

"And you are also aware that one need only walk through the garden as to not be chased by the hounds?"

"Yes Sir. Knobby knows." The elf peered at him wonderingly.

"Are you furthermore quite clear that your assignment to Miss Granger demands that you do anything and everything within your power and her wishes to secure her safety at all times."

The elf's eyes widened to a remarkable size.

"Do you recall that instruction by your master, Knobby?"

"Yes sir." The elf nodded.

"Good." He told her solidly, and then he laid back down on his bed, exhausted. "Good." He repeated. The elf was gone and soon he was asleep, plagued by dream where his mother's ghost appeared to him like the ghost of Jacob Marley. He was then visited by three spirits. One was Knobby who showed him happy Christmases from his past, where his mother smiled at him excitedly unwrapping his gifts. He tired to catch her, touch her, but she turned to fairy dust and disappeared in a puff of white smoke.

Then Harry Potter came and showed him Christmas as it was now: the ministry bending its will to the Dark Lord; his drunken father kneeling at the hearth and drinking fire as he smiled and wept saying "like a dog, like a dog" and barking madly; the Order lamenting their defeat rather than celebrating his mother's death; and then there was Hermione dying. Yes, he could see it clearly. She was lying on the snow covered ground in her red dress crying.

"I'm dying Draco." She told him. "For us. I'll be dead tomorrow but everything will be fine then. Smile." She said sweetly, confused at his angry tears. "Aren't you happy? I thought you would be happy."

"No," he wanted to tell her. "Not happy. Why would I be happy?"

"You killed me." She laughed incredulously, and then died. Hermione turned into his mother and he tried to scream, tried to scream but couldn't. He shoved Potter who called him a ferret and left him alone, all alone in the snow crying for his mother.

But then the third spirit had come and it was the Dark Lord. He was hideous to look upon and smiling widely as he showed Draco the world he would create. People were starving, mere skeletons, while others ate richly. Screams and filth filled the chilly air. The two walked through mist as Voldemort talked to him whispering secrets, of how he used to be one man but now he was seven and could be whole. When they came to ocean Draco stopped at the edge of the freezing water, but the Dark Lord walked upon the water with a sick smile. He stood on the sea though it was black and tumultuous; he stood on it like land, and shouted his own praises and swore he was back. He was back. Someone screamed.

Draco awoke in a cold sweat. How much of what had happened was real? Before everything could come rushing back, his door flung open. His aunt Bellatrix stood in his doorway, eyes wild. She was upon him before he could grab his wand. She wrapped her hands around his neck, but was not strangling him. No, she was hugging him, clutching him tightly, dearly and kissing his head as she rocked backwards and forwards on his bed. Could this be the dream holding him still?

His father, hung over and startled from his bed, suddenly appeared in his door. "What in the devil is going on here?" he demanded to know, clutching his skull and eyeing his sister-in-law and son very oddly.

Draco looked questioningly at his aunt wondering exactly that. "Happy Christmas!" she giggled. "Draco has given me the most wonderful present."

"I have?" he asked, still confused. His father looked on between baffled and concerned.

"Yes and its wonderful. I doubted you had it in you. I thought you would back out, run from you duties. But look at you, avenging your mum. I'm proud of you."

"What is she talking about Draco?" Lucius asked. Draco pried himself from the woman, wanting to ask the same thing, but hesitating slightly.

"He couldn't wait to do it, you see? He couldn't wait until morning. I thought he'd gone soft, but he killed her in the night."

"Who?" asked Lucius dumbly, but Draco had already come to that conclusion.

"The mudblood." Bella sniggered. Good then. Hermione had indeed escaped undetected. She was safe. He tried to be happy. He had thought he would be happy. He felt nothing.

"Is this true Draco?" his father asked. He could not answer, only nod.

"Come and lookie!" Bella exclaimed like a child on Christmas morning. Then again, he recalled, it was Christmas morning. "She's all cold and stiff."

"What?" Draco faltered. His father raised an eyebrow but said nothing, following the jubilant, now cackling, sister of his slain wife to the adjacent room. Draco did as well.

She had done well. Things were strewn about in a haphazard fashion. Some things were even broken or singed by what may have been spells. It looked as though there had been a struggle, a duel perhaps. Clever Hermione, he thought. Even the infamous diary was left behind. Open to last page it read: "I must get out!"

Something was amiss though he did not spot it right away, not until he saw his aunt pointing at it directly, laughing gleefully and stopping a foot. There, tangled grotesquely in the bedding that had fallen half onto the floor, was a pale lifeless body. Hermione.

Lucius' crisp but delighted tone addressed the room now filling with people. "Notify our master immediately," he told Bella, who was gone in an instant. "There will be no need for a ceremony. Touch nothing. The Dark Lord will want to inspect the body." He told the people gasping and murmuring behind him. Placing a hand on Draco's shoulder he said, "I'll send word to Severus immediately. We'll want to let the Order know their precious girl is dead. Harry will want to know, will he not? Let us send a picture and a lock of her hair, with a note saying Happy Christmas."

"And the ring. Then they will know for sure."

"No!" he snapped, then calmed. "The ring stays. If you wish to convince them, send them a little something more…_personal._"

Draco eyed the body with contempt and disgust. He made no move to collect anything from it. Was it really her? It didn't look like her. He would wait until everyone left the room to check it.

"No?" Lucius inquired at his son's somber state. "Right, best not messy your hands with such filthy blood. I'll leave you to it then. Well done, son. You had strength to do what was needed." The man said passionately, almost wistfully, thumping him hard on the back. "We celebrate this today." He announced.

Draco impassive face turned to a frown. "Celebrate, but what about mother?"

"Who?" he asked coldly.

The Dark Lord did indeed wish to inspect the body. He inspecting it thoroughly for signs of deception. First, he cut her arm to see if she would react, he then threw a Crucio upon her, slapped her face, ran his hand along her breasts suggestively, all to a chorus of sniggers from his Death Eaters. Draco's own face was hard and unfeeling, though inside he felt he might be sick to his stomach.

Had he the slightest idea what had happened, he might have been frightened of the Dark Lord reading his thoughts. If he had looked inside his mind, which Draco was sure he was doing, he would see only the body he was now observing staring back at him. It seemed to be all the world consisted of at the moment. If he pushed deeper perhaps he may glimpse the dream that kept surfacing from the night before, the one in which she had died. There were no memories of the other times they had shared. It did not seem to involve the same person somehow.

Empty yourself of emotion, Snape had once told him. Shock was a powerful emotion, it pushed out all else, helplessness, grief, love, guilt. As he was numb to the world, there was no emotion the Dark Lord could pick up on, except occasional waves of grief if he thought of his mother, an overwhelming, smothering sadness. Seemingly satisfied, Voldemort gave Lucius a curt nod in the affirmative. Cheers instantly rose up from the crowd of death eaters that had gather in his family's dining room, but he silenced them for he was not yet done. Not quite.

Voldemort too thought her friends may not believe only a picture, a lock of hair. He desired to send them something more personal. And so he very carefully filled a vile with her stagnant blood and sealed it a cork. Draco stared right at it just as the Dark Lord wordlessly dared, but it did not matter. He could not see it. He saw her in red dress dying, asking if he was happy. How could he be happy? He was alone.

"Severus." Voldemort called and from the back of the crowd of followers a man made his way until he was kneeling before the body.

Voldemort grabbed the man's hands and laid in them the vial, hair, and picture. "Deliver to the Order our little Christmas present."

At that there was thunderous laughter. Leaning forward where only those near enough could hear, Voldemort whispered maliciously to him, "You tell Harry Potter that his little friend is dead." He nodded. The Dark Lord released and let him go to the fireplace where he quickly vanished. There was no trace of the guilt, the failure, the dread he should have. Could the man feel nothing?

"Yes, my Lord." Was Snape's unfeeling and obedient reply.

"My lord," Bella cautiously inquired. "Why not the body?"

"Why not the body?" Voldemort called to the hall. No one answered.

"What s to happen to it, my Lord?" Draco heard Fenrir Greyback ask.

He snapped harshly at some of his people, "Do not TOUCH the body. It will be buried securely, where those friends of hers will never get to it, in the Malfoy family crypt." Any other time, someone would have protested, said they would not have her flash laid to rest with that of Malfoy, but Lucius willing obliged with no sound of discontent. "Now, we celebrate this stupendous victory!" The ruckus of cheers and applause were but a distant note to Draco who stood paralyzed, staring at the body. That was all it was, a body, a cold out shell. It wasn't Hermione, not really.

He was so lost he did not even notice the Dark Lord approach him from behind, putting a fatherly arm on his shoulders.

"My Lord," he managed to remark in surprise, surprised that he did not recoil from the contact.

"Draco, Draco," he clicked his tongue. "All this pride and success yet you stand here glum. Why? I know your first killing feels a little, unnatural, but does it also not make you feel more…powerful? Human life takes so little to extinguish, only a swish of the wand and everything stops, the blood runs cold, the heart stills. Did you expect it to be more difficult perhaps?"

He nodded absently.

"This has made you stronger than you know. You have proved them all wrong about you, all those that doubted you. You've protected your family. You did enjoy it somewhat, did you not when you stood above her, the only one breathing. Didn't you feel _alive_?" he sucked in the air about them lustfully.

"Of course," he replied automatically.

"It's your poor mother then?" he inquired, his tone hardened somewhat. "She was a necessarily loss, my boy. Disobedience cannot be tolerated." His fingers dug into Draco's should slightly as a reminder, but he did not wince.

"Good." Voldemort nodded approvingly, giving Draco an appraising him for the first time.

"Yes my Lord." He replied.

Leaning in close the Dark Lord hissed in his ear, "Take your bride, Draco, and bury her."

He obeyed. Without thinking, Draco lifted the body in his arms and carried her as they looked on surprise. He did not take her down into the catacombs right away. Instead he took her to her room and called Knobby, giving her clear instructions.

Sobbing the elf cleaned the body and its wounds, then dressed her in her wedding gown she was made. Draco stood by without a sound. He wondered who had done this. His first thought was his mother saving him the trouble, but that impossible. She was dead when they arrived and Hermione still very much alive. Alive. It shouldn't be him doing this. It should be her friends. Those who really loved her selflessly loved her, as his mother had loved him. They should be preparing her body, laying her to rest, reading her favorite poem, saying a prayer, weeping.

He stopped thinking about weeping. Instead, he thought about his cousins. They must have done this. Then why not take credit for it? Did they perhaps want something in return and were waiting to blackmail him with it, or where they telling everyone now? Everyone seemed to be under the impression Draco had done the deed. They no longer questioned it. But he couldn't stop questioning it.

She was in bed when she was attacked. She had been staying. Maybe it was part of her plan, but it didn't matter. She had been staying for him. She had not left him alone. He wondered what she might have said in her last moments, what the killer may have told her. Did she call for him? Was that why he dreamed what he had?

He surveyed the room for a sign of the true murderer, sure his cousins had left some trace. He should have made her sleep in his room last night. He had not thought of it… He knew she wasn't safe, knew they would not be able to resist caged prey.

At last, his fiancée was ready. He looked over her body, entirely clothed in colorless. It was Hermione, he observed. She looked lovely and Knobby had brushed out her hair to thin wisps of satin and put delicate curls in the end. The elf sprayed the body lightly with the sweet perfume. Other than being ashen, she looked tranquilly asleep. He swallowed hard and without a word he carried her down the stairs.

Heading towards the back of the house, just past the library, he used his wand to lift a tapestry and open a door in the wall behind it. From there he descended down a long, stone staircase into the Malfoy catacombs. Every few feet, torches sprang to life at his appearance, but dimmed again as he moved away, keeping the lighting low. The place had a stale smell and a cold draft. He'd visited this eerie, quiet place only once before, when his grandfather had died. It had been frightening then, but scurrying mice, dusty bones, and looming shads no longer held any power to frighten him. How could anything be frightening anymore now that Death himself had accosted him and stabbed him in the heart?

Softly, weakly, he laughed. It was ironic. He had nothing to be afriad of anymore.

When he passed the crypt his mother was to be placed in the tears would not be abated any longer. Here, under cool, wet ground, in the secret darkness among only the dead, he could mourn.

He marveled at his tears as he wept as though his world was ending. Oh yes, he remembered, it was. But she really did look so lovely with those two white roses in her hands against that plain white dress the elf had placed her in. She was pallid herself, all the blood in her body still and cold as the Dark Lord has promised. He stood beside her and leaned over her stone bed, his breath on her face. He felt none on his. He pressed his forehead to her own and his tears fell on her stoic visage.

He finally asked himself had she done this? Had Hermione, as he thought when he first saw the room, decided to fake her own murder in attempt to save him? She had given up the faint hope of escape and chose not to leave him behind, not to give up on her insane belief that he was capable of true courage. But he wasn't. It was true, what she had said. He had killed her.

People don't just change, she had told him, something has to change them. Could that be what this was? Was she saving him? It was unselfish, saving both his cover and Snape's. It was brave. It was clever. It was loyal. It was Hermione. It was also proof of what she had been trying to convince him of all along. Life hand handed her the greatest test it could, and once again she had passed with flying colors. But why did she have to do that? Why give so much when it was never asked of her? When it wasn't even wanted?

Maybe it really was his cousins' doing, or his aunts, or his father's. Maybe it was even Snape's. Maybe, he pondered, but he knew it wasn't. He knew Hermione would never have let them win. In the end, she would have been defiant, ready to die but on her own damn terms. It should have made him happy to know she felt something for him, whatever it was. She should be happy she was proved right yet again. But neither could feel proper joy because she was dead.

Weeping, his head still against hers, he told her. "I'm not going to thank you, you know? So you can just forget it. I wish you had run away. I never wanted to see you again!" Again he cried. His face hurt from crying so much.

Then, through the tears and running nose and shaky breaths, "Kiss me." He whispered with a desperate hush, like a whining child. The body below him did not move. "Kiss me." He demanded, panting angrily. No laughter rang in vault. He pressed his own lips forcefully to hers and sobbed into her unmoving mouth, "Kiss me." She did not pull playfully away. "Kiss me!" he yelled in her face, his voice resounding off the cavernous expanses of the family catacombs. That's when he knew, he's only just begun to love her and she was gone too.

He took hold of her hands and their iciness sent and a chill down his own body. He held them tightly anyway, saying a prayer. He fell silent. A small tinkling sound rang in the tomb as something rolled out of her grip and onto the floor.

Something shimmered in his torch light. Squinting, he leaned forward and took hold of the tiny object, cool against his fingers, and brought it further into the light to examine it. Unintentionally, he let out a small gasp. This had been concealed in Hermione's interlaced lifeless fingers, hidden by the two white roses. With it, in Snape's scrawled handwriting, was a note, a note that, in four short words, explained everything.

It was worse than he thought.

A/N: And what were those words exactly? Review, please!


	30. The Origin of the Tombs

**Disclaimer:** Not mine. Don't sue. Please see previous chapters for thurough disclaimer.

_A/N: I am so impressed, yet again, with all of your great support of this story! Last chapter received the greatest response yet and we've just hit 700 hundred reviews. Many thanks also to all the people who added this fanfic to their favorite lists. _

_So, here it is: the final chapter of Part III. Sorry this one is yet again very short. Remember, we still have two more 'Part's to go. Thanks again for your support thus far and if you're still confused about the part division check out the clarification table of context below. Next week, we start Part IV. As always, thanks for reading! _**_To avoid confusion you should note that this chapter actually moves back in time to where chapter 28 left off._**

**Stolen**

"_The heart has its reasons reason knows nothing of."-Blaise Pascal._

Part I: Hermione's Trap (Chapters 1-13)

Part II: Hogwarts (Chapters 14-22)

Part III: Christmas (Chapters 23-30)

**Chapter 30: **The Origin of the Tombs

"You're out of straws Granger, and out of time."

She sat, or rather dropped, dejectedly on her bed and looked around her hopelessly as if actually searching for an answer that might appear out of thin air. Frantically, her mind was scavenging for a thought that might retain a glimmer of hope. Why was she so determined not to leave Draco behind? He deserved it, didn't he? That was what he wanted, was it not? It was what he had chosen.

"First light has dawned." Snape's voice grew urgent. "Let's go." Again, he grabbed hold of her arm. This time she could break free.

"Wait; let me think a little while longer."

"Why for Merlin's sake are you fighting me on this? This is your life we're talking about, and it's disappearing as fast as the night outside and our time left to escape. I understand you've discovered bad people aren't always evil. Congragulations, now grow up!" he spat. "I thought you were smarter than this! This is his choice, Hermione." The man hissed in her ear. "You haven't failed if that's what you're worried about, not unless you stay here and let yourself be killed, for _nothing_."

She was confused, and perplexed as to why exactly she was so confused. Why could she not tear herself from the spot? Why could she not stop glancing at the door, hoping he would burst through the door at any minute? Barely understanding what she was saying, Hermione bit the tips of her fingers and told Snape in a hushed voice. "There's something else you must know. Something's happened."

"What?" He raised his eyebrows.

"It's what I was afraid of, what Harry was afraid of!" she said with sadness, even shame, realizing the truth at last. She felt sick. "I think I have feelings for him, just like you warned me not to, just like-"

"Dumbledore wanted." He finished for her.

"What?" She felt as if he had just struck her. Slack jawed for a moment, she could barely manage to stammer to the composed man before her; "You mean Dumbledore, planned this?" She was incredulous and a little hurt. "He wanted this to happen. He used me, made me pretend to love Draco knowing I would start to fall for him and then I would save him. I was his pawn and Draco was Voldemort's." She ended with disdain.

"No," he corrected "You were his hope, his dying and most desperate hope, to save a man who spared his life from a fate worse than death. You have done your part Hermione. Draco lacked the strength, or the courage, to do his. The old man believed too much in people."

"Or maybe just enough."

"What are you talking about?" he sighed, or rather growled, in exasperation.

She stood and paced a bit. She was resolved now, she understood. When Harry had first told her about the prophecy she had been so perturbed by his resigned compliance, his acceptance. She had tried to make him see that life was about free will for everyone. Whether they are house elves, muggle-borns, wizards, squibs, muggles, centaurs, half giants, werevolves, or vampires, everyone had a choice in their destiny. Now she saw something else, her own destiny and it was clear as any answer she had ever known. There was no walking away from what she now knew she must do, what was needed of her. She had hoped and looked for an answer that would save everyone, her friends, Snape, and Draco, and she was so close to it she could taste it. She could feel the ends dangling, waiting to be tied together. There was no turning back now.

"Damnit girl, enough with the teenage theatrics, this is not some great romance. He tried to brainwash you, remember? I'm going to get you out of here if I have drug you, so grab that diary and shut your-"

"That's it!" she suddenly exclaimed.

"What?"

"It's brilliant, professor Snape, just brilliant. Why didn't I think of it before?"

She was ecstatic, practically bouncing up and down. His expression clearly indicated he thought she'd really gone mad at last.

She was babbling on in choppy sentences, they way she did when she thought of something and was still piecing it together, filling in the details mentally, checking for hurtles. She was nothing, after all, if not thorough. The answer had come. It had been there all along really, waiting for her to be ready for it. Looking back at what had led her to the solution she had sought, it seemed many things were pointing to this moment.

"Drug me?" she repeated in disbelief. "Our very first potions lesson, that awful Skeeter woman said, great romance…it all fits!"

"Miss Granger you try my patience. You will explain yourself." So, she did.

She explained how in their very first potions lesson he had asked Harry several questions, one of which was 'what would I get if I added powered root of asphodel to an infusion or wormwood?'

Even in the midst of all that was going on, he seemed once again taken aback by her intellectual capacity for memorization.

"The correct answer of course was a sleeping potion so powerful it's called-"

"The Draught of the Living Death." He said slowly.

"Exactly." She said triumphantly.

"Of course, but how did you-?"

"You gave me the idea for that as well: some great romance, teenage theatrics. That awful Skeeter woman was right, a modern Romeo and Juliet."

"You do recall," he asked sardonically. "How that turned out for the first people to try it, do you not?"

"Well, it worked out well for Sleeping Beauty, and Snow White."

"Oh God, don't tell me Draco's your prince now?" he said in a mix of skepticism and disgust.

"No." she shot him a reproachful look, "Just not my enemy."

"I see," he said folding his arms. "And how do you plan to carry out this genius little plan of yours?"

"The elf!" she exclaimed. She thought she spotted the phantom of a ghost pulling at his lips. "She's bound to serve me, so if you leave to brew the potion and I send her to pick it up, she'll have to do it. Send with it an antidote to and tied to it a note in your hand so he won't question it. I'll stage things here, make it look like I was attacked in the night."

"He'll blame himself."

"Yes, he will. If he comes to you, instruct him to come to me, to make amends with the dead."

"Voldemort will test it."

"I know. Will I be able to withstand it under the effects of the potion?"

"Yes, unless of course he casts another killing curse for good measure."

She shuddered. That was certainly a possibility. Of course staying here without the plan meant certain death and as for running…she wouldn't. Someone unwilling to risk their life for their friends did not deserve to live. She wasn't a bloody Gryffindor for no reason after all!

"It's a risk we'll have to take," she told him. He seemed more willing to accept this. "And what will they do with my body?"

"Voldemort plans to have you incased in the Malfoy tomb, most likely to keep your friends from getting your body and to punish the Malfoys, but things could change…"

"That will work well if he does that! Just perfectly, and he does change his mind and I am buried, well, I won't really know so I guess it won't matter. What do you think?"

"I think it sounds like the perfect opportunity for many things to go horribly wrong," she stared at him. He sighed. "But it may work."

"Good. You must hurry. Go."

"Don't tell me what to do Granger."

"Sorry," she added bashfully.

He turned to go, all too aware of the time. At the door, he hesitated and turned back with an odd, torn expression on his face. He seemed to be looking at her as if it was the last time he would ever set eyes on her again.

"Are you sure?" he asked vigorously.

"Quite." She responded certainly. "I'll get things ready here."

The door shut and he was gone.

Alone in her room she thought little of her plan and even less of the ways in which it was not foolproof. Instead, she went to work. She threw things around, blasted the shelves with spells, and singed the ends of the bed spread and carpet. That's good, she thought, surveying the mess. She searched her drawers, pulling them out and strewing things about. She withdrew a skiving snack box and chewed it, giving herself a nosebleed. That would look like she'd been cursed, put up a fight. The diary was a final touch. She took it out and left it open to the last entry that would explain her apparent suicide to Draco, who would know immediately she was not murdered. Or at least, she hoped he would, hoped the diary would give it away at once.

She then summoned Knobby. The elf would have to think she was going to kill herself in act of joint loyalty and defiance. If she knew the truth, it would only put both of them in danger. She tearfully told her to go Snape's home and retrieve to bottles and a note she was forbidden to leave. The elf was startled, but obedient. When she left, Hermione's nerve got the better of her. She raced to the bathroom and lost her supper. Swiftly, she steeled herself for the house elf would soon be back and she was. Hermione was about to explain what she was to do when the elf proudly asked Hermione if she wanted to see the wedding dress the elves had prepared for tomorrow. Her eyes watered and the elf was quick to apologize, whole heartedly.

"No need." Hermione told her kindly. "You just leave it on the chair."

The poor thing became distraught when Hermione left her the note, bottle, and instructions. She knew what was going to happen, clever thing, and tried to persuade Hermione to go out to the gardens, probably to run away. Silly, sweet thing. Hermione tried to comfort her and told her to get some sleep. Practically being pushed through the door, the elf finally left her alone.

She allowed herself on glance at the dress before she took the potion. It really was very well done. There were several layers of white gossamer fabric as the primary part, around the hips, an extra layer was gracefully bunched and draped. The top part was fixed like a corset, embroidered with tiny pearls in intricate pattern that made ivy and a pair of flowers. Up the sides, at the chest and hip, there was red ribbon, just enough to add an accent to it. It would also match her hair clip, she noticed. The texture was so soft she could resist but rub her fingers along its length. She had always dreamed of a bright summer wedding with a mix of many soft and vibrant colors against a backdrop of white and lavender, flowers. This was different. It felt like the season, wintry, but it was made with so much care and adoration and pride. She imagined it in the snow outside in the garden. It would have been beautiful.

A trickle of blood still flowing from her nose fell on it. Remarkably, the drops matched to a tea. She tore herself away from it and undressed, tossing her cloths about. One couldn't make it look too civil of this lot would never buy it. Sitting in her bed, the sheets wrapped around her, she took a deep breath, looked up at the clock. It ticked away uncaringly at one may be her last minutes. Under the pillow, where she had told Knobby to look in the morning, were the second vial and the scrap of paper. On it, Snape had written the words: "Give her the antidote." With it, she was to place the empty vial to be disposed of.

Her hands trembled as she lifted the container to her lips. Her senses, all feeling astute, seemed to perceive things in slow motion. Her heart leapt and pounded, as if it was keen to her idea and wanted out of this mess. She told it calm down and, summoning all her courage, swallowed the potion. She began to feel its effects almost immediately. There was that moment of poise when she was unsure if it had worked quickly forgotten as her eyelids began to dip heavily. Her chest felt heavy as well. All of her did.

"Wait," she said, or maybe thought. "I've forgotten something." Using all her remaining energy she forced herself from the bed, but tangled in the sheets, she slipped. Something was wrong. "Wait." She said again. And then, even in her odd position, she calmly fell into a deep sleep.

When she awoke, Draco was over her, his face illuminated strangely in the torch light and she started in surprise thinking, "Oh no, it shouldn't be over that fast."

Draco's already pallid face turned ashen and he backed away from her figure, falling over the raised platform. He tumbled to the hard stone floor with a thud and as she leaned over to look at him, not yet sure of her bearings, she noticed his eyes were almost as wide as hers. Then, she fell over on top of him.

There was grunt and an exclamation of pain and then their faces were suddenly very close, their noses almost pressing together. She would never admit it, but there was something comforting in It at that moment, though she may not be able to put her finger on exactly why.

"What in the bloody hell," he panted breathlessly. "Is going on?" She felt him trembling underneath her. Bloody coward, she reflected sourly. She rolled her eyes, coming back to reality.

"Well, obviously I'm not dead. So what's happened while I was asleep?" she said simply, rolling off him and rubbing her eyes as things began to come back into focus.

"A-a-a-asleep?" he stuttered like a frightened child.

She stood, dusting herself off. There wasn't much time left.

"Come on. There isn't much time. How do we get passed the rooms they are in and out into the garden without them seeing us? Draco?"

He laid on the floor and look at her as if she were mad, or perhaps as if he was.

She knelt, reaching to him slowly. He cringed and backed away swiftly.

"Are you a ghost Granger?"

"No. I took a sleeping potion one powerful enough to keep me asleep all this time. The sleeper can only be roused by the antidote."

"I thought it was true love's first kiss." She was about to laugh, but stopped. He wasn't joking. His eyes had a strange, distant quality to them. She frowned in concern. "I _saw_ you die," he tried to tell her.

"You haven't gone batty have you?"

He rubbed his forehead looking distressed. "I don't know." He replied honestly. Again, her eyebrows shot upwards, but immediately she composed herself again. He had experienced too much too quickly, he was about to go into shock. It was overwhelming him and he was about to crash. Gently she rubbed his shoulder, trying to show him she was real.

"I'm alive, Draco. I have been all along. It was a plan you see, only I can't explain now. We have to leave or they'll kill us both. I'm terribly sorry for doing this to you. I am, but we've got to leave now. You've got to come along now. How do we get into the garden?"

"The elves." He half whispered.

"The elves?" she repeated baffled.

"The elf passages, servant passages."

"Okay, how?"

"We've got to the kitchens."

"How?"

"Through the dining room where the Dark Lord and all his Death Eaters are," He replied.

"Oh my God, I should have thought have that before." She put her hand to her mouth.

"We can summon Knobby but then she'll know if they ask her."

"We could take her with us."

"If they summon her she's magically bound to return." Just then, somewhere high above them, there was a rather loud thump. Both heads shot upwards, mouth open.

"Come on Hermione think!" she told herself forcefully. They can't come down here yet." Nervously her eyes darted around, searching for a solution. There must be a solution. If only an idea would come to her. Think. Think. Think. Another thud, this one softer, carried down into the depths of the tomb. She whined anxiously. Next to her, Draco seemed mesmerized by thin air. He wouldn't be any help.

Come on Hermione, she told herself. Where is that light bulb? Nothing. They were trapped mice, waiting to be discovered or die, most likely both. A draft carried through the tunnels of the catacombs.

"The tunnel!" Draco shouted in a hushed voice.

"What?"

"Our catacombs are intricate tunnels that lead deep down under the earth, right under our garden!"

"But how do we dig up that far?"

"We don't have to dig. The beginnings of these tunnels were begun by the Malfoys when they were in hiding, to let the children escape. Those that caught them knew of the secrets tunnels because they were betrayed by their friends. At the other end of the tunnels are the first crypts at the house of Casus Malfoy and his family. That's where the air comes from down here, it leaks in."

"Draco!" she gasped, lunging forward and wrapping him a big hug. "You're a genius!" He looked vaguely surprised, but had no reaction apart from that. He seemed numb, as if in a dream. Perhaps he thought he was dreaming. He seemed very confused. Watching someone dead come back to life must be rather upsetting, and he had just lost his mother. She looked at him again in a concerned manner. She really had to hurry before it caught up with him. She couldn't get away with him falling apart all over the place. Focus on the task at hand, she told herself, that will keep him calm. "Which tunnel?"She asked.

"I'm not sure." He squinted into the darkness. "Maybe this one." He indicated the one leading from their chamber to a lower one.

"It's a starting place." She sighed, hurrying forward. She performed a simple spell to use her wand as a compass while Draco lit his, abandoning his torch inside the tomb. It was very dark underneath the earth, inside the wet underbelly of the world. They ran. Often they came upon dead ends, stumbled upon rats, slipped, fell down, and scraped their hands and knees. Still they kept running. They kept on running though the cold air stung their lungs and they were dizzy with being lost so many times. They ran so long they no longer noticed the eerie stare form the eyeless sockets of so many corpses, nor the strange and putrid odor, nor the masses of cobwebs tangling in their legs and hitting them in face. As the air grew colder, they realized they were at long last headed in the right direction, but they grew still more apprehensive. What if someone where waiting for them? What if somehow they had discovered their plan? They had been in the tunnels so long they had lost track of time, could they have discovered her body was missing already?

Light became visible ahead; just the faintest light, and then she realized with jubilation that they were nearing a trap door. Standing ready on either side of it with their wands erect and taking a steadying breath they were listened in the silence for a sign that someone might be waiting above. There was none. Hermione cast a spell to open the door which flung aside like a cellar door and immediately Draco sent a stunning hex into the room above them. There was a startled yelp and then someone, or something, fell to the floor.

They both leapt in surprise but remained silent, poised, and ready. There was no retaliation. Throwing questioning cautious glances at one another they waited, straining their ears, but the only thing they heard was the sharp cry of a falcon, possibly Draco's. Hastily, the two scrambled out, nearly tripping over Draco's dog Porthos who lay stiff on the floor of the cottage turned falcon roost. That had been the form Draco had stunned then. He must have heard them coming up ad came to investigate. She felt rather sorry for the poor surprised thing, as did Draco apparently who petted him apologetically before fleeing the cottage. Once in the clearing of the woods, they looked at one another wide eyed and breathless. Hermione then extracted the stopper placed on the potion vial and safely tucked away the vial itself along with the note from Snape.

She looked at him in his bathrobe and she in her wedding dress, both rather dirty and cold. "Not the most inconspicuous outfit, but it will have to work." She shrugged, trying to be light hearted. Draco just stared at her oddly.

"Grab this," she instructed, holding up the cork. He did so only at the last minute and, after that sickening pull around the navel, they were jolting forward to another place. The world around them disappeared and in a split second everything, even the very earth beneath their feet, had changed.

_A/N: Exciting? I hope you enjoyed it, please review! _

_Some of you wondered why Hermione could not simply apparate from the Manor, or apparate with Snape. That would give away that someone had warned her and Draco or Snape might be blamed. Snape's plan was to apparate with her and blow his cover, but she objected. Some also hypothesized that knobby and Hermione switched places, and that was quite clever, but Hermione said she could not ask anyone to do that in chapter 28 when snape proposed it as that would be asking them to risk or maybe even sacrifice their life for hers. She's a Gryffindor! Also, the polyjuice potion, she's already learned the hard way, is for human transformation only. Some of you were quite close! Most of you suspected I did not kill her off, since I have two more parts to this story to go, but you know me, I couldn't resist a cliff hanger. Nice guess on the four words btw!_

_Next…Part IV_


	31. Worse

**Disclaimer: **Please see previous chapters.

_**Please Read A/N:**__ Now we begin Part IV: Not Yet Certain. To be honest, it's the part I have been most nervous to post as it will be the most original and drastically different of the parts of this story. I really hope you all continue to read and enjoy. My goals with this story remain the same: to keep everyone as in character as possible and develop true love in its most honest form. As always, there are many twists, turns, and surprises left in the plot to come! Warning: dark at times._

_**Stolen**_

"_The heart has its reasons reason knows nothing of."-Blaise Pascal_

**Part IV:** Not Yet Certain

**Chapter 31:** Worse

It was worse than he thought.

The scrap of paper in his had hand read: "Give her the antidote," which meant that she wasn't really dead. Of course, he did not think that was possible at the moment. First all, because death had become more real than life and second because it appeared that the only thing he could trust were his senses, which told him she was undoubtedly dead. Skeptical as he was, he could not help but feel he faintest twinge of hope, for if _this_ were possible then perhaps anything was possible. Perhaps his mother too could be raised from the dead. Perhaps things would magically go back to the way they had been. Perhaps he could love Granger, and she him, but he doubted it.

So, he had given her the potion. When he had poured the antidote into her mouth it had begun to work immediately. In utter disbelief he watched color gradually light her face, her chest begin to fall and rise, and then her eye lids fluttered. If ever in his life he had truly glimpsed magic, this was the moment. Low and behold, she had awoken and startled the hell out of him. That would teach him to doubt professor's Snape's skills and her cleverness and resourceful nature.

The world as he knew it had taken an awful downward spin in the last twenty four hours and now it had flipped over on its arse. At this point there was no figuring it out; he was just holding on for dear life. As far as he was concerned, he knew nothing, absolutely nothing, anymore, so when she said they had to run he had ran. He hadn't thought once why. He had followed, like a sheep to the slaughter. He had left his house and inheritance, his grieving father to the wrath of the Dark Lord, his pets, his only home, and his not-yet-buried mother on Christmas day. Now he was standing in his bathrobe in a snow covered forest with his former sworn enemy, clueless, without his family, and without a single knut or possession on him, save his wand. Now he began to think why.

He had thought it was over. He had thought she was dead. He had thought he had nothing else to be frightened of because honestly, how could it get any worse? Now it was so much worse he surmised as the truth set in, the scenery registered. He was about to ask where they were, but they were there for so short a time he could not. Hermione had grabbed his wrist and taken off and at a dead sprint further into the woods, making many sudden turns. Already tired from the tombs and having not had breakfast, Draco finally stopped running. Hermione seemed to think the stopping place satisfactory, for the time being anyway. Keeled over, they both panted. Through his heavy breathing Draco finally managed to speak logically.

"Okay. We ran. So what do we do now genius?" he threw at her sharply.

She looked at him with mild surprise, her face flushed. "We hide," she told him breathlessly.

"Look, as fun as this game sounds I," he began, but she cut him off in quiet but serious tones.

"It's not a game Draco."

"Excuse me?" He knew that of course, but he hated it when she did that.

"If they find us they'll kill us so it's not a game." There was a pause as fear and reality crept into his chest. He felt like running again, like looking over his shoulder.

"Us? You're the one they want to kill-"

"No they don't. They think I'm dead, for now anyway. You, on the other hand, are a deserter."

"What? I only ran because- because, well because I thought something was going on, something you knew about that I didn't. You mean that was all your part of your get away plan?" His anger began to rise.

"Yes. A rather good one, if I do so myself. And you did beautifully."

"How so?" he demanded smartly.

"You reacted just how I had counted on. You ran like a bloody coward."

"Like a what?!" How dare she? He had just left his home and his family, or what was left of it. His mother was not even buried yet. He'd left everything knowing they could be caught on the way out just to give her a chance at surviving and now he'd been hoodwinked. She dared to call him a coward?! He did not see her staying to fight. She was the one running.

"Is that really the only reason you came with me? You thought I knew something you didn't?" She was being too honest now; her eyes were wide open and slightly hurt. No one was that honest, he thought with a pang of both guilt and anger, no one.

"We- what? Well, yeah. I mean of course it is." He faltered. Perhaps he should have been honest too, but he was so taken off guard by her, so angry at being tricked and insulted. Let her think that. "But why take me? How did I get roped into this? You have friends that would hide you, you can sure bloody well 

take care of yourself, and you know our way along our grounds. What purpose could I possibly serve in your great getaway?"

"The dogs would have given me away."

"That's not it Granger." He shook his head. Then he knew. Mocking her with a smirk, he told her, "I was part of the plan. You're still trying to save me aren't you? You didn't want to leave me behind. You love me. Damnit Granger you can't just, just hijack someone into being a good person you know?" He finished at a shout.

"You're right Draco." She replied calmly.

"I am?"

"Yes. You were part of the plan. I hijacked you. You are my safety net. I'm returning the favor."

"How's that?" he asked, folding his arms across his chest.

"There's only one person besides you and I who knows I'm alive and it's not to his advantage to say. Therefore, there's only one person other than me who can tell the Order you aren't responsible for my death, or the ministry for that matter. There's only one person that knows I tricked you into doing this and he's not going to give his life to save you by saying that, so once again that leaves just me. So,"

"So let me get this straight." He said through gritted teeth. "The Order wants to kill me because they think I killed you. Death Eaters want to kill me because they think I'm a traitor. The ministry, a mix of Death Eaters and Order, want me dead for those reasons,"

"Basically," she gloated.

"So I have no where to go, nothing to do, and no one in the world except someone who everyone else thinks is dead?" he yelled again, dropping his arms.

"Exactly, only you better make sure I stay alive if you ever hope of clearing your name with anyone. I couldn't get through to you playing on your terms, so we'll just have to play on mine for a while." It was her turn to look cocky now and it really didn't flatter her, he decided.

"How long do you think we can run before someone catches up with us?" he asked.

"I don't know," she said seriously, looking off in the direction from which they had come. "But for both our sakes you better hope my people are better than yours and the Order finds us first."

"AHH!" he exclaimed, kicking a tree in frustration. "Fine!" he shouted, throwing up his arms in surrender, then he pointed an accusing finger at her, "But I swear if you die on me Granger, I'm going to kill you!"

"I'll keep that in mind." She told him sassily.

"And what do you plan to do while we're running?" He asked her as she picked up the train of her wedding gown to move on once again.

"I'll think of something…" she said nonchalantly. There was something else to all this, something she wasn't saying yet. He could feel it. This was so much worse than he could have expected.

"Well what are we going to eat?"

"We'll see." She told him, as if it were of little consequence.

"And where are we going to sleep?" he asked her stiffly.

"Why? Are you tired?" she threw back.

He growled. "You didn't think this through entirely did you?"

"Well, you see I only had this one night to come up with it,"

"When do you really think they'll catch on?"

"Well, if we are lucky they'll all get drunk and no one will think to go looking for you until the Dark Lord gets suspicious. He'll discover the body is gone and so are you and then he'll send everyone out to look for us. He'll probably assume at first that we've gone to the Order."

"Why don't we?"

"Excuse me? Did I just hear what I think I heard?" her happiness was really making him sour.

"Well, if what you said about them is true they won't kill me and they'll hide us. Why not go to them then?"

"I'm glad to see you're willing, but no, we have to go it alone for a little while." He didn't ask why. There was nothing especially appealing in going crawling to Potter.

"You know they can follow our portkey, right?"

"Yes," she sighed, subconsciously rubbing her arm where it had been cut unknown to her, "But they'd have been alerted the moment we apparated on the property, possibly put a ministry trace on us since Voldermort is in control there. We can apparate from here though, what are the chances they'll find the exact spot and trace it?"

"Pretty good if they use my dogs to track us." He informed her with a hint of pride in his voice. Her face fell. She had not thought of that. He felt sorry for poor Porthos as he thought of him lying in the cottage when they had escaped…Hermione's brilliant plan. He could hear the resentment in his own voice as he half-mumbled, "I still don't understand how Voldermort didn't think of the Draught of the Living Dead…"

"He did of course and he addressed the possibility in the same way we hoped he would. He wanted me buried, locked away under his nose. I think part of him hoped my friends would come to save my body. I was the bait for a trap all along. That's why he told you to bury me in your family vaults. What he didn't count on was you helping me or your family's secret escape route. What I'm worried about is whether or not he'll buy that I made the potion myself, even with the elf's memory modified. The last thing we need is more suspicion put on Snape. Look, I'd love to discuss my resourcefulness in times of distress, but we really must be going." She tugged his arm.

"To where?" he asked, interest peaked. She shrugged. "I don't think it matters too much today. Since its Christmas all the stores will be closed and anywhere we turn up we'll look suspicious. I do have a plan for later, but as for now… I think it's best we just lay low for a few days, really low."

"Hide?" he asked.

"Right," She nodded. "Have any bright ideas?"

"I thought that was your department." He sneered, at a loss of anything truly clever.

"Well you certainly saved me back there." She admitted easily.

"Well I-what?"

"Your idea with the tunnels, without it we would have been trapped just as the Dark Lord planned. It was rather brilliant." He shook his head in disbelief and then, very gradually and very slyly, smiled. She looked suddenly nervous. "What?"

"I _saved_ you." He felt triumphant at last. Magically, she owed him her life. She knew what that meant.

"Yes, I know and I am returning the favor." He rolled his eyes. It's not like he had much of a choice to do things her way.

"Isn't there anywhere we can lay low with food?" he grumbled, his stomach reminding him of the fest he was missing out on.

"Anyone who helps us we put in danger."

"Then can't we just steal it?"

"No!"

"Come on Granger, we can't do anything if we starve. Even beggars eat on Christmas." He grumbled.

"Draco that's it!" she gasped, smiling.

"I'm not begging Granger." He was quick to object.

"I know where we can apparate!" she said excitedly.

"Where?" he inquired, puzzled.

"To London, the muggle side!" She declared enthusiastically.

"What? You mean apparate into an alley of one of the busiest cities in the world to avoid detection? Is one of the side effects of that potion temporary daftness?"

"No, it makes perfect sense. In third year when we needed somewhere for the D.A., we met in Three Broomsticks because fewer people frequented it. But Sirius pointed out to me that if we didn't want to be overheard we should have gone somewhere busy, somewhere that didn't look the least bit suspicious and where it would be more difficult to spot us as well. The last place they'll be expecting us to go is somewhere public, and if they found us we'd have a better chance of getting away because of panic and commotion. There are few Death Eaters that are familiar with the muggle side, correct?"

"You know, you may be on to something here. They'll be expecting us to hide in some remote forest, but if they do manage to track us down to such a deserted spot, we'll be helpless, hunted down. There are so many people in London. And you're right. That will be the last place they'll be expecting. I'll need your help though. I don't think I know that side well enough to apparate out of sight of muggles."

"Good. I need to keep an eye on you anyway. We can do side along."

"Aren't we going to look more appropriate for Halloween than Christmas?" Draco asked, examining their dress critically, a bathrobe and wedding gown.

"Oh yes, I suppose you're right." She mused, pausing and chewing her lip. She extracted her wand and tapped it to her chin thoughtfully. With a swish she managed to make his coat pass for a jacket. Taking a pine cone from the thick, white carpet of ground, she transfigured it into a smart little hat to keep his head warm. Then she turned his clothes grey, making him high inconspicuous. Even still she stood before him shivering in elegant wedding gown. She examined it herself with a skeptical humorless laugh.

"Now this one will be a bit more difficult."

Just the sounds of a breaking twig somewhere behind them made them both jump and whip around. "I've had an idea." She said. "Will you stay here for a moment?"

"Sure," he replied bitterly, shrugging. "Where am I going to go? Home? Oh that's right I don't have one of those anymore do I?" She gave him a sad look, as if she was almost going to apologize but thought better of it. She took off to go do whatever it was she was up to now. He was left alone with his thoughts, which hastened to remind him of the danger hot on their heels. "Hey hurry up! Don't leave me out here alone!" he shouted her retreating figure. She waved to say okay.

He looked around to make sure he was quite alone then he laughed another miserable, weak laugh. Alone? He had never been more alone, never in his whole life.

There in the snow, dazzling under the bright morning sun, Draco Malfoy relished his privacy and he cried. He cried because his mother was dead and because he had failed Hermione, and they both knew it. He had lied, betrayed her and that was something on one would ever be able to forget. He cried because he was just afraid, and cried because he had suddenly lost everything he held dear. Draco sobbed because if he wasn't a Slytherin, and he didn't live in Malfoy Manor, and he wasn't a Death Eater or a member of the Order, then he wasn't Draco Malfoy. He wasn't anyone. Just a boy alone and crying the wilderness. Mostly- though he hardly dared admit it to himself- he wept because in this new light he began to think maybe he didn't really love her, not like he thought he did.

The soft crunch of snow behind him made him leap to his feet, wand at the ready. There stood Hermione in a wool sweater with snowflakes on it and a pair of jeans. "Draco," she began cautiously.

"Let's go," he snapped, turning his back to her and wiping his face. "We're wasting time." He could not stop the sniffling that followed, but she thankfully ignored it, leaving him with some dignity at least. She took his hand and abruptly they found themselves in an alley of London, just off the street he had been on the previous night. The night he had spent inside the building to their left while his mother…his mother...

"Where did you get those?" he asked her as he cast a look at her change of clothes. He followed her lead as she led him away from the theatre, looking straight ahead.

"We were in a place in France near where my parents and I once stayed while skiing. I snuck up to the lodge and took them from a visitor."

"You stole them." Hypocrite.

"No! Well, not exactly. I exchanged them. I could have transfigured the dress, but it was so lovely I didn't want to ruin it. I didn't really want to keep it either really, all things considered."

He nodded.

"So I left it for this other woman. Oh! It wasn't cursed or anything was it?" she suddenly thought, a bit horrorstricken.

"No."

"It was lovely." She said faintly.

"Quite." He swallowed.

"But I just couldn't keep it either, I" she sighed.

"I understand." He told her.

"I left a note like I was a runaway bride, thanked her and apologized for taking her sweater and jeans. At least, I think I did. My French isn't the best…"

They walked on in silence several blocks until they came to a large and rather nondescript building in slight disrepair adjacent to Cathedral whose name he could not see. "Where are we?" he asked as she proceeded to walk right into the establishment.

"A soup kitchen."

"For whom?" he raised an eyebrow, confused. What was a soup kitchen and could they just stagger in there uninvited?

"The poor." He stopped dead in his tracks. This was too much. She had asked him to sacrifice everything and now she wanted him to swallow what was left of his dignity. He was not some filthy beggar on the street, some charity case like the damned Weasleys. He was rich!

"No," he told her firmly. She only sighed, as if she had expected this kind of argument and thought little would come of it.

"Draco, I know it's embarrassing, but we don't have any choices. I'm not entirely comfortable here either, but we'll be safe. No one will suspect it," she stressed.

"This is ridiculous. We have money in the bank!" he protested.

"Do you think they're not watching the bank? They'll get you the moment you enter Diagon Alley! You won't even make it that far." She reminded him with surprising heat.

"But you-"

"Am dead," she finished promptly for him. "I can't go waltzing in anywhere."

"What about muggle banks?"

"No! Not unless you want the Order hunting us already."

"We don't?"

"No."

"Why not?" he demanded, sick of games.

She huffed. "Look Draco, just this once, we'll do this and then I promise we'll get some money. Just pretend you're someone else. We'll pick out another name for both of us. That's probably wise anyway. You want to eat, don't you? Well, this is the only way it's going to happen." She said resolutely as she cast look at the building behind her. He looked too. It was simple, a large structure, one of the city's older establishments. He instantly hated it.

Gritting his teeth, he tried to remain calm. "I'm not agreeing to anything until you tell me everything that is truly going on here."

She looked at him with great clarity marking her features, as if truly seeing him. It was that look he had gotten before, when he was crueler than she expected or more cunning. He was not sure what she was seeing this time and so he did not smirk. Unnerved, he still managed to stay stoic, unyielding.

"Okay." She nodded, her recalculations taking place evident on her face. "Okay, I'll tell you after we eat. You show me you're willing to go that far with me-not for me, but _with_ me- and I'll tell you everything. But I promise you," she added sadly. "You don't really want to know."

What sort of secrets could she be hiding? Was it worth throwing away the tattered remnants of his pride, his identity, to find them out?

"What are your options, Draco?" She was right really, though he tried not to show it. He was trapped, as she had been. His only other option was to go it alone from here, and they both knew he wouldn't last.

"What's my name?" he said at last.

Confused at first, she smiled sadly. "Sean."

"And you're Mary-Margaret."

"Okay," she said and extended her hand to him. Though he was surprised, he took it. Both drew in a deep breath as they crossed the simple threshold into another world.

They were in dimly lighted cafeteria of some kind, covered here and there by holiday decorations. It had an odd smell, one not altogether pleasant. It smelled like cleaning products, stew, peas, bread, cheap alcohol, wet dogs, and, in certain places, garbage. Reacting naturally, they grimaced. The place looked clean enough though crowded, so where was the smell coming from? Then it dawned on him, some of the _human beings_.

Hermione's sharp intake of breath beside him was due to the realization, he knew, that there would be _so many_ people, so many with nowhere in the world to go on Christmas morning, people who had not a soul who would feed them, no family, no friends who could, or would, help.

Some of them were jubilant, sitting in groups, relishing the warm food, and singing along with carols playing from a crackly speaker of some kind he deduced. Others were crying or sitting in solitude depressed, missing someone, or something, or another life. The rest ignored these. There was an acceptance of it; their sadness had somehow become common place. Some were so out of it they barely recognized what they were eating as they inhaled it, hazy eyed, emptying flasks into cups of tea, trembling. Some still plopped lazily down to complain about the food they had been given and cast dark looks at every other tortured soul in the place, as if they alone were the cause of the misfortune that had led to take their Christmas dinner from a hard plastic tray.

He had worried about losing so much in his life, had so many things he had desired for Christmas. To think he had missed such things as silk pajamas and goose down pillows when there were people before 

him in little more than rags, some quite filthy and inadequate in such cold, who didn't even own their own pillow let alone a permanent place to lay it.

They were nameless to world, forgotten by those rushing forward. They were homeless. They were exactly like him he realized with a chill. These people really _were_ alone, and for the first time he did not feel so much so. He squeezed his companion's hand. She smiled tearfully at them, no doubt moved by the scene in ways he couldn't guess.

The regulars watched the clean new guys warily. Some were nice, friendly even, but Draco moved from the clusters of strange faces as he spied one vaguely familiar. Hermione followed puzzled and uneasy in the midst of these type people of who watched them so closely. Draco too felt a wave of shyness as they skirted the room and he clutched his wand as well.

As he got closer, the man he had spotted raised his head and looked Draco in the eyes, clearly taken by surprise.

"Hello." Draco said as Hermione looked from one to other, baffled and concerned.

"Hello. Happy Christmas." He said simply, waiting to see what Draco was doing there, what he wanted.

"Mind if we join you?"

"No," he said hoarsely, shaking his head. "Get in line and the ladies will get you a plate."

Just like that, Draco got in line. Hermione still looked at him rather oddly, frowned.

"Do you know that man?" she finally inquired.

A smile tugged at the corners of Draco's mouth. "No. We've ran into each other before is all." She did not take kindly to being left out of the loop, but how was he supposed to explain that sort of connection anyway? It was the man from the street, the one from two days ago who he had both literarily and mentally looked down upon, and then, out of some spasm of goodwill, shown him charity.

They waited in line with the multitude of hungry others and, despite his worry, the busy women and man across the counter slid them a tray the same as anyone else without so much as a questioning glance. One even offered a faint smile. They were nuns he gathered by their clothes and crosses.

They sat with the man from Diagon Alley and ate in silence for bit, looking each other over a bit at a time. The food was not bad, some boiled beef and potatoes, bread, sweet peas and a cup of tea. It was no Malfoy Christmas feast, nor Hogwarts dinner, but it was much better than going hungry. Much better.

"Are you following me?" he asked gruffly, trying to hide his worry.

"No," Draco assured him. "We're just having some very bad luck."

"You in trouble?"

Draco looked at him, rather hard and replied honestly, "Quite frankly, we're dead." He looked at Hermione, then him again.

"You have any money?"

Draco swallowed hard and looking down told him, "No."

"I know a place, one you can stay if you had need." He told him simply.

"We have need." Hermione told the man. Draco cringed. The man saw it, but made no comment. He just sipped his tea. Hermione smiled warmly, offering him a hearty "Thank you, sir."

He didn't seem to see her, made no reply. He just took a swig from his tea again. After dinner, the nuns said an after meal prayer and ushered them towards the Cathedral. They followed because the man did and found themselves in a massive and breathtaking sanctuary complete with a towering ceiling, marble floor, frescos, and stained glass windows. It was not unlike the church his family and he would normally be attending for the holiday. Hermione, who had never been to mass, was perplexed though fascinated. He couldn't help but snigger at her uncharacteristic fumbles a few times as he followed the service routinely. Once dismissed in prayer, the man tugged at his sleeve and they followed him out silently. They walked what Draco swore had to be kilometers in the biting cold. The whole time, they kept a perceptive eye out for any form that might follow them, Draco kept his hat down and Hermione pushed her sweater up around her face.

Once, Hermione tried to make conversation. "What's your name again, sir? Draco didn't introduce us."

"John." He told her, and that was it. He did not ask hers nor proclaim it was nice to meet her. No one spoke again until they reached a hotel, a rather run down place, very old though not entirely without taste. It was definitely not the sort of place Draco would normally stay. It had probably been one of the nicer places fifty years ago, when it had first opened, navy carpet, wallpaper, fountain in the lobby from what he glimpsed from the back servant's entrance where they stood.

"I'm the bellhop here. They always have rooms vacant. Hold on, I'll find you one."

"Thank you John," Hermione told him.

"We'll pay you back." Draco assured him, not about to let his reputation die with the rest of him that had been recently destroyed.

"I thought you didn't have any money." He frowned.

"We will, one day, and we'll pay you back." He looked at her funny.

"Sure. We all will." He told her. Draco wasn't sure if that was supposed to be a joke or not. Maybe he was mocking them. Well, then he was mistaken. They were not going to be poor the rest of his life.

"We must pay you back." Draco insisted. Hermione shifted uncomfortably, no doubt not wanting him to scare away the only person giving out free hotel rooms.

The man sized up Draco but he stood tall under the appraising gaze. He could not imagine how, but he did. "I hate charity myself. Consider us even."

"What?" Hermione whispered to Draco. He was not perplexed. In truth that's why he had sought out the old man. Draco was an outsider, he knew nothing in this new world and so he needed to know someone who did know things. This man had received something from Draco before and he was a man with dignity still clinging to his eyes. Draco had known he would pay him back.

"One night's all I can do. Period. Understand?" he told them seriously. Hermione nodded. Anymore and he'd lose what work he had.

"We understand. We'll be gone in morning. You won't see us again."

"Promise?" his voice sort of growled. Draco thought that might be a sense of humor showing.

"Promise." Hermione agreed. It was. John laughed heartily then invited them in the side door of the hotel, led them up the worker stairs, and stopped at room 232, handed over the key.

"Jiggle the knob." He told them, and just like that he was gone. They did not jiggle the knob. They opened with alohamora and went inside. It was simple, empty. You could hear the tap dripping the in bathroom. It smelled stale, like old hotel rooms left vacant too long do, but it was very clean so there was not room to complain. It was very small as well, but it wasn't as if they needed much room. They had no luggage. Not one piece. There was only one bed. The man, John, had assumed they were together. It hardly mattered now. They would share it. No one said a word about it.

"If it weren't for that man we'd be…" she left the sentence unfinished, its weight hanging on the air.

"I know." They spoke softly, still in shock. There was one of those telly boxes muggles watch on a stand. Definitely, a muggle place he thought with contempt. He doubted anyone would look for them there. For good measure, she shut the door behind them, locked it magically, set an alarm on it, and cast a silencing charm. Vigilant as always, he noted. In fact, he began to think, if it wasn't for that man, Hermione's idea, the tombs, their timing, deciding to go in the soup kitchen…He had told that man they were having awful luck, but that wasn't true. There had been so much good luck that helped them actually make it to this old place. This was the luckiest unlucky day of his life.

"He reminds me of someone." Hermione wondered aloud as she surveyed the room before her.

"What?" he asked, his mind having drifted far from John.

"That old man, John was it? He reminds me of someone. He just looks like he's aged before his time or something, his grey maybe."

"Yeah," he said absentmindedly. "It was his hair or something. He looks rather rough, doesn't he? But he's a good guy," he mused, not really caring.

"Yeah," she sounds surprised. "Yeah, He is. Hey Draco, are you okay?" she knelt down by the bed where he plopped down without realizing it, her hand gently placed on his knee.

"No," he said breathlessly, numbly, almost laughing. "Feels like none of this is happening," He tried to express. "It feels as alien as my nightmare, like it is my nightmare and it keeps getting worse. And it's so confusing. None of it makes any sense. I don't, I don't know," he hesitated. "I don't know where one ends and the other begins. I don't understand what's happened and I'm afraid that-" He admitted with his throat unreasonably tight. "I'm afraid I don't want to know. I don't want to find out how alone I am."

"You're not alone. I didn't die. You helped save my life. We escaped. We ate dinner and now we have a roof over our heads. You've done great today, Draco. And you are not alone. We are still stuck together," she laughed.

"And what about tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow we'll figure it out in the morning."

"But, I mean, you have some ideas, right?"

"Always," she smiled and he thought he felt just a tad bit better.

_**A/N:**__ Well, I didn't leave a cliffhanger for once, happy? I hope so. This chapter is bit longer than the last couple chapters. I'm very excited to continue so let me know if you are too-leave a __**review**__! Please! Thanks for reading, as always!_


	32. Happy Christmas

**Disclaimer: **Please see previous chapters.

_**A/N: **__First, let me apologize for a major error in the last chapter. It was not the Three Broomsticks in third year, it was the Hogs Head in fifth year, which of course I was aware of but I didn't catch it though many of you did. Sorry for that. I know it was distracting to some of you. Also, thanks for the reviews. I love to hear from readers. Due to time constraints created by school, I wasn't able to reply personally to each this time, but I hope to do that in the future and I plan to go back to reply. As for the wait, I was out of town for a long time to see relatives, then it was my brithday, and now I've moved back into at college and started classes. Bear with me; I shall try my best to make up for it soon._

**Stolen**

"_The heart has its reasons reason knows nothing of."-Blaise Pascal_

**Part IV: **Not Yet Certain

**Chapter 32:** Happy Christmas

Everything. He wanted to know everything, but Hermione thought Draco had recently faced more reality than he could contend with at once. No matter what he thought he wanted to know, she knew better. Horcruxes were the last thing he was ready for and she wasn't about to risk him going into shock or having a mental breakdown, not while they were on the run. For now, she would have to take charge. She would have to figure things out herself and once he had had some time, then maybe he could help her. Maybe, given some time, he'd be okay.

Where ever they went next should be somewhere secluded, somewhere Draco could recover. Ideas flew through her mind, each quickly shot down due to some gaping flaw. It all came back to one thing: money. She was right of course, she couldn't just walk into a bank and withdraw money if she was dead and Draco couldn't go near Gringotts if he wanted to live very long. Even if they used the polyjuice potion to enter someone else's vault, they would need the vault key which they didn't have. She knew what his suggestion would be, but if she could at all help it she was not going to steal. The only person they could ask for money would be Snape and that would have to be an absolute last resort. There was no telling how closely the Order or Voldemort watched him. She had promised him no further contact; that was the plan, the only way it would work. There was one thing left he could do for them and then they would have to fend for themselves. But how?

They needed to go somewhere unfamiliar, somewhere no one would guess to look for them. She also knew they would be safest traveling as muggles, not using magic would make it harder to track them. Buses and trains would cost money, as did hotel rooms, and how were they to get a job with no diploma or credentials? They didn't even have birth certificates or addresses. It was hopeless.

She did not tell him that of course. Instead, she ran him a bath at which he started in surprise. He was in there a while, giving her time to think. As time ticked on she grew hungry again, but ignored it. There would be no more food today. Happy Christmas, she thought sourly and flipped on the telly. A black and white film played: Miracle on 34th street. That's what they needed, a miracle. Well, it was Christmas after all. If such a thing were to happen, certainly it could happen to them. Maybe someone would show up looking an awful lot like Father Christmas and he would hand them a train ticket and wink merrily. Yeah. Right.

Of course there had already been one miracle; that vaguely familiar looking man Draco had somehow known. How Draco would come to know a homeless muggle still puzzled her, but she left that mystery for later. That man had put a roof over their heads when they most needed it. In a way, it had been the best gift either had ever received. He had been their Father Christmas.

But they must be gone in the morning and back to the real question at hand: _how? _Of course, a simple memory modification or disillusionment charm would suffice to get the on a train undetected. However, using magic to sneak onto a public transit would be risky. A wizard might spot them or the ministry could use a magical trace to find them.

Hermione Granger was known by many for finding the one solution to a tricky problem. Sometimes, before the solution occurred to her she could feel herself getting close. Other times however, like right then, it hit her like a splash of cold water. It felt like she didn't come up with it at all, like someone else had whispered it in her ear. And then she would think to herself, as she did just then, how could she not have seen it before?

She had to act quickly. Half a second later, she snuck out of the room swiftly hoping to return before he emerged from the bath in which he was now soaking. Besides, her absence would afford him some few precious moments to himself. She knew he was confused and grieving and probably afraid too. If she had time to think about it, she might even be afraid herself. As it was, she had only one idea occur to her and it would have to be the one she acted on, for she was running out of time to act on anything at all.

She made her way quickly and quietly as possible down the staff stairs to the very bottom where she turned a very dark corner. There she was met by a pair of heavy metal winging doors. As she cast a silent disillusionment spell upon herself, she pushed them open. Hermione pressed her back against the wall behind her the second she entered the basement, and couldn't' help but feel a little like a spy.

She could hear someone moving somewhere in its vast dimly lit expanse. A pipe dripped and someone coughed in the distance, but she sensed or heard no other movement, so, cautiously, she moved forward. Her shoes made a clicking sound on the stone floor as she hurried over to the large hampers used to transport laundry throughout the hotel. Checking that the coast was indeed still clear, she set to work inspecting the contents of each giant container for clean maid uniforms until she at last found one that would have to do, just as she heard the coughing voice near the corner. Reaching far over into its depths to grab the black and white suit, she slipped, fell, and toppled inside it. There she remained, surrounded by a sea of fresh linens, sitting very still as the tapping footsteps grew closer. She was quite stuck. Some spy she was. Thank heavens for disillusionment charms.

"Mable?" as raspy voice called, coughing again. "Ah well," the woman sighed and the cart began to move forward, its driver grunting a bit with effort of pushing a cart about fifty kilos heavier than usual. She heard a ding not long after the cart stopped moving and she guessed they were moving on to an elevator. Great, she thought. Just great.

The elevator moved upwards, its motion somewhat more jagged than Hermione was entirely comfortable with. At last, it dinged again and the cart rolled out into a hallway on to the smooth surface of the old navy carpet and she looked up at its wallpapered walls impatiently. The maid stopped outside a door and grabbed some towels close to Hermione's head, catching a few strands of her hair and pulling it sharply. She barely contained the yelp of pain as a sharp intake of breath, causing the middle aged curly hair woman above her to start and then shake her head dismissively as if she concluded she must be hearing things. Hermione breathed a silent sigh of relief. That was close. Crouching in this thing is getting quite uncomfortable, she reflected as the woman knocked on the bedroom door before them. There was no answer. She knocked again and slipped inside.

Hermione had no idea how long she would take as the woman had only brought in a few fresh towels. Immediately she leapt to her feet, dashing out with her uniform in tow and some fresh linen from the hamper to boot. The doorknob creaked. Her eyes darted around for an escape. The stairs were too far away to run to before the door opened again. Thinking quickly, she took a few steps toward the elevator and pressed the button several times. Just as the elevator dinged to indicate it was on its way, the door the maid had disappeared to re-opened. She held her breath, shifting her wad of clothes neatly folded under her arm that was furthest from the woman and flattening herself against the wallpaper. Fortunately, she did not even glance towards Hermione, but rather rolled her cart further down the hall without a word. As soon as it came to a stop before her, Hermione slipped into the elevator and shut it, hitting the button for the bottom floor.

As soon as it moved, she removed the disillusionment charm and began pulling off her clothes. Her rushed hands trembled as she nervously pulled on the maid uniform. She was all too aware the door could open at any minute. She felt much better when the uniform was completely on. It was navy blue, not black, and white with the silver crest of the hotel emblazoned on the front pocket. In it she placed the note and vial from her pocket. She pulled back her hair in a ponytail neatly, hoping to complete the look. Hastily, she stuffed her clothes in between the towels and sheets she carried and tried her best not to look flustered as the elevator came to a stop at the lobby floor.

Her eyes shot open wide as the chattering guests, a small vacationing family, began cramming inside. She was directly behind the lobby desk, watching the old tinkling fountain, the glass doors where the familiar form of the man who had helped them stood outside in the cold in outfit not unlike her own. The desk clerk's head moved into view and she pressed the button inside the elevator for the bunch struggling to hold their luggage. His head was turned from her for the time being but one glance her way could cause more trouble than she was prepared for. Readily, she fingered her wand hidden in the towels. These people really were taking forever to clamor in with all their bags. Keeping her voice low so as to not be caught by the desk clerk, she moved politely forward and offered to help. Taking what equivocated roughly her bodyweight in luggage, she accompanied them to the second floor where she helped set them up in them in their room, just a few doors down from where she and Draco were staying. She had been gone a while and she had no doubt that Draco would soon merge from his bath to find her missing and possibly panic. She spoke rather loudly as she chatted with them about their journey from Cork, hoping her voice would carry through the thin walls. It did. As she emerged, she spotted Draco's blonde head popping inquisitively out of their door in search of the familiar tones. He looked relieved when he eyed her.

"There you are," he exclaimed before she could stop him.

"Sorry sir," she was quick to interject. "I'm bringing those towels right now." She smiled to the family as they closed their door, thanking her for her help and handing her a small tip. Her eyes widened, and she feared they may water. She thanked them graciously, before leaving to move on to the stumped looking Draco.

"What are you doing?" he whispered after the group had safely retreated into their room.

"Making plans."

"Without me?"

"Well, you didn't seem in shape to help." He frowned resentfully.

"I can help. Besides, how do I know you're not planning to leave me here if I'm of no further use?"

"You want to help? Want to wear one of these?" she joked, tugging the ends of her skirt playfully.

His reaction was entirely different from what she had expected. He surveyed the outfit carefully, looking very peculiar. Swallowing hard, he informed her, "Granger, that is _hot._" She rolled her eyes. Boys.

"Here," she said handing him the small sum of money. "Now you know I'm not running off as I can't go anywhere without that." He looked at his palm incredulously.

"Then how do you know I won't run off without you."

She scoffed. "Simple, that is muggle money. You don't know the first thing about using it. Now, please stay in the room and don't show your face out here if you can help it. Keep the curtain drawn and the telly volume down."

"The what?"

"The little box with the picture. Didn't you eve pay attention in muggle studies?

"How do you watch that thing?" he asked in disgust.

"The knobs on the side are just like your wireless radio."

"But it's just this little picture with sound. How do I stare at a box that long? It's like watching a photograph that speaks. How annoying."

She smiled,"You get used to it." He shook his head doubtfully.

"Well, find a quiet way to entertain yourself. And don't use magic unless it's an emergency," she whispered. He nodded and slipped back inside.

She readjusted her bundle under her arm and checked her pocket for her belongings. All was as it should be. With a sigh, she headed back towards the stairs from where she made her way back down to the basement once more and there found a cleaning cart which she pushed on to the elevator. She picked a random floor she hoped would be occupied and made the elevator made its trembling way up in a few moments, stopping with a ding.

She slipped off into an empty hall and looked at a deserted hall. Tying her apron on garnished her a chance to hide her wand more safely. She tossed her clothes and towels on top of the cart from which slipped a chart on a clipboard. She picked it up and examined it. It was a chart listing all occupied rooms and chores to be done in them, each one already completed marked off. This was exactly what she needed. It didn't take long for her to find the third floor, where she was, and realize that there were four rooms being used on the hall, two of which by couples. She went directly there. The first door she knocked upon was occupied and they specified roughly that they had no wish to be disturbed. She moved on, wishing every step, "Please be empty. Please by empty. Please be empty."

She knocked once. No response. She knocked again and still there was nothing. A quick charm unlocked the door she had no set of keys for and she carefully entered the room and switched on the light. She smiled at the slightly out of order room, nearly identical to her and Draco's quarters, completely empty. She collected the towels from the bathroom and stripped the bed of linen quickly, extracting carefully from the cloth, two hairs and hiding them in her vial inside her pocket. It didn't take long to find a pen on the small inn table. She grabbed it, checked to see that it worked, then withdrew the scrap of paper tucked away in her pocket that was now bare, the temporary writing having faded away as was planned. On it she scrawled, "Need it tomorrow."

Smiling triumphantly, she put the pen back in its exact place, hid her note in her pocket, and looked around at the small room with a sigh. Might as well clean it up as she'd have wait around to see which hair belonged to whom. First, she put the clean towels in the bath, then put on fresh sheets and neatly made the bed. Taking a rag, she dusted the surfaces she found, emptied the trash, and cleaned the ash tray. With nothing much else to do, she brought the unknown couple an extra roll of toilet paper and sprayed the room with air freshener. Still, they weren't back, but she remained in their room unwilling to risk herself and Draco switching sexes for any length of time. She washed their window and dusted their blind. She found herself looking down at the street and wondering how many streets away she was from Harry and Ron.

They would be sad this Christmas, grieving. Ron would at least. She worried about Harry though. How much better was he feeling since they had gotten him away from the dementors? She had heard no word. She couldn't imagine the gloom that would cover Grimmauld place like a fog should he still be ill, Voldemort gaining power, and she dead. She wondered if anyone had been lost in the battle for the ministry. She tried not to think of who else may be lost already. Tonks? Lupin?

Hermione dearly wished she could tell them the truth, let them know she was alive. Ron must feel so alone without his best friends. At least he and Ginny could keep each other company. She would return soon enough, she promised herself, but for now she had to make the wise decision. She, like others had sacrificed, had to sacrifice. She must, as others had to endure, now endure. For as dark as things were, she could see clearly in the darkness. Her path was laid luminous at her feet, luck on her side thus far. She and Draco had things they must do, because they and they alone could do them.

She wanted to see her friends so badly she thought of apparating there and peaking in only for a moment, but she didn't. That longing to see them again at may be the only thing that kept her going through what she had to do, what she had yet to endure. Harry's messy hair falling about as he laughed hard, Ron's shy look when he'd just been bested: those memories would be her light in the darkness of these times until the time came when they were no longer memories and there was no more darkness.

Her eyes burned and watered. Stupid dust, she mumbled, taking a feather duster to the curtains. She was standing back some time later surveying the place before her. She doubted it had looked this good in some time as no one who had fifty rooms to clean could give a single one so much attention. She was rather proud of her handy work and was happy to see her hands had not been spoiled by using magic for such tasks. The place shone and smelled fresh she reflected, pleased though tired as she sat on the bed just as the door opened and slowly.

"Oh excuse me," she shot up at the sight of the couple she had been waiting on stumbled in through the door as it became suddenly unstuck. She had almost forgotten.

"Oh no problem," the smiling couple politely reassured her. Why were they smiling? Oh yes, they were happy. That's right, she told herself. They were a good looking pair too, she thought.

"The room looks really good." The strawberry blonde headed woman told her, surveying it with pleasant surprise.

"Thank you," Hermione told them, making a mental note of the man's black locks as she slipped behind the kissing couple to the door. "Happy Christmas!" Hermione wished them with as much false cheer as she could muster.

"Wait," the man told her, as red faced and jolly as those old pictures of Father Christmas she had seen. He went to his pocket and Hermione felt her heart leap painfully in to her throat with hope. "Here you are." He handed her several notes, a generous tip.

"Oh no, I couldn't accept this." She said, blushing as she handed it back.

"No please," said the charming blonde girl. "It's the least we can do. You didn't have to clean the room too. Besides, it's a shame for anyone to have to work on Christmas."

"Thank you, thank you." She said turning away with a sniffle as she stuffed the money in with her vial and note. Damn dust.

She shut the door with a snap and for no particular reason finished the next two rooms fairly quickly before returning the uniform and cart to the basement. The woman was right. It was a shame for anyone to have to work on Christmas. The least she could do in return for stealing the cart was mark off a few chores. In the basement she rolled it squeaking wheels against the stone floor and pressed it against a wall. She felt a surge on unexpected optimism when she spotted a cardboard box also pushed against the wall under the dripping pipe. In the box below, muffling some of the drops, were an abundance of abandoned or lost garments. The box was haphazardly filled to the point of over flowing and with a quick glance around Hermione leapt upon it. She rummaged through as quickly as possible through items of clothing that wouldn't be missed. Much of it had been munched on by moths or mildewed because of the water damage. Even more of it was wrongly sized, but she did manage to collect a few things she hoped would fit herself and Draco before disappearing up the back stairs just as the ones opposite opened.

At long last, and feeling much more tired than she had expected, Hermione trudged up the stairs to her room and knocked once. Draco opened it cautiously and let her sighing figure in. She couldn't believe her eyes. He was smiling as she went back to the bed. Apparently the bath had done him good, even more than she had thought. He was watching the telly too, a Christmas miracle she mentally joked. He shushed her as she shuffled about.

"It's better than theatre." He whispered. "This man's ruined his whole life, gave up all his dreams and ambitions, for this woman," he explained.

"Draco, where did you get that?" she asked worriedly, eyeing the room service table with two bowls of soup on it. "The old man left it at the door." He said absently, taking a spoonful of his and showing her the messily jotted note that had apparently been left with the meal.

"No one should go hungry on Christmas." She smiled faintly, trying hard not to think of those that were. Yes, no one should, but they were learning that even less of the world was as it should be than they had originally thought. She should be with her friends, Draco with his family, but that was not to be. She sighed again. This life could quickly wear a person down, make them older. She felt older already.

"That was nice." She commented, unable to articulate what it _really_ was and not feeling up to trying. She dropped the garments she had acquired, removed her borrowed boots, and crawled into bed to, taking the bowl he offered. He looked at her as settled in, watching the program. She recognized it instantly as It's a Wonderful Life, one of her favorites. She didn't tell him. She did not want to ruin it for him. He wasn't acting normal, per se, but it was better than panicking. It was better than breaking.

The soup was very warm, some sort of bean and bacon concoction. The cook here was surprisingly good. She still couldn't believe their luck. Here she was, worrying, taking things into her own hands, preparing for the worst. And there was Draco, curled up in silk pajamas watching a telly, and eating soup. She should have been happy he was adaptable as she was-it meant they might survive the journey ahead- but she was angry. To her, he had this faith things would work out for him and miraculously, they did. It wasn't fair. But she supposed to someone who had always been taken care of, such a thing would come as a natural assumption and she should in fact be grateful, because if his faith ever failed him he might crack. And there was no telling what he might do then.

"You look tired." He told her as George Bailey informed his guardian angel that his car had been there earlier.

"I am, but I have little bit of money for us to get out of the city tomorrow and a way for us to do so unrecognized if things go right." He looked vaguely surprised.

"Not bad Granger." He credited cockily.

"Thanks."

"I hope things go right then."

"Me too."

"So are you going to tell me the real plan yet? Why are we not running to the Order? "

"I'm not sure you're ready to know everything Draco." She told him honestly.

He looked worried, afraid even. "Fair point. How about you tell me the plan for tomorrow then; we'll go piece by piece." She didn't answer right away. All things considered she wasn't sure how much she could trust Draco. He started to grumble with resentment, "Maybe I could help you. You didn't have to get the money all yourself. How did you get it anyway?"

"I cleaned rooms."

"You're kidding."

"No, I'm not. I did servant work and those are tips." He frowned, deep in thought. Then he surprised her so much she nearly spilled hot soup all down her front.

"Next time I should do it."

"What?!"

"It's not fair for me to use money I didn't help earn. So, we can take turns."

"You did hear me right? I said I cleaned up after other people, like a house elf, like a slave."

"Yeah I heard you," he snapped, clearly not any more pleased at the idea than she had expected him to be. "Still, it's not fair. It's dishonorable I mean, for me to let a woman work to take care of me."

She growled at his scathing, sexist remark. How typically Malfoy, she thought with reproach. She bit her tongue though. If he was going to work for a living, try to be fair, that was improvement at least. Fighting was the last thing either needed to do right then. They were all each other had in the world. She nodded in agreement with his plan.

They watched more of the movie in silence.

"So what's the plan then?" he asked.

"If I tell you, you may run off without me." She told him, not entirely joking.

"I guess it's fair you don't trust me for a while."

She didn't answer. It was more than fair. Fair would be if she had left him there to die, turned on him as he had done her, and left him to the wolves. Then again, what was fair? Very little of the world she had seen.

Draco laughed. "The villain in this is Mr. Potter." She smiled and shook her head at his humor, though it was ironic.

"Where are we going?"

"I don't have that planned. Somewhere we've never been before so we can't be easily traced, and we'll be taking muggle transportation."

"And we'll be disguised?"

She nodded.

"Good plan." He conceded.

"I hope so."

"See how sad it is to not be anyone?"

"What?"

"I guess things weren't as bad as he thought they were, only he couldn't see it through his troubles. He only saw what was wrong not what was right with his life." He explained, speaking about the main character.

"No one does. It is a wonderful gift to see things from an objective point of view."

"People are so stupid sometimes, so blind. They don't see anything as it is, until they lose it. We'll get it back right?" He sounded like a frightened child.

"Get what back?" she asked.

"We are going to get our lives back one day, right?" she smiled.

"I think so. That's what we're going to try to do… for all of us." Now things were looking up. Now he had something to fight for.

"Well, this one wasn't so bad Granger." He said about the movie as the credits rolled and she explained what they were.

"No man is a failure who has friends." She thought aloud as she got up to switch off the telly.

"Makes you wonder. What a difference your life makes, what things would be like if you had never been born? Did you help more than you thought, or hurt more?"

"Yeah," she conceded quietly. "Yeah it does. It's a classic." She told him, switching off the light as well. "We need to leave early. We don't want to stay here too long and we have a stop to make before we go to the train station."

"Okay. Night." He muttered from the other side of the small bed. It was so small in fact they were pressed against each other, back to back, and she could feel the rumble through his chest as he spoke.

"Happy Christmas," he said, his voice thick with grief.

"Happy Christmas," she repeated as tears fell down her face and onto her pillow.

_**A/N: **__So? Please let me know what you thought in a review! Things are about to get very interesting… _


	33. A Dangerous Business

_**Disclaimer**__:_ Harry Potter is not mine. No copyright infringement is intended.

_A/N: I am so sorry for the long wait! Inspiration for this segment unexpectedly waned at the same time I was overwhelmed by classes. I have been admitted to the honors program which gives me another three hours a week class time, but it also means I will get to study abroad! As you can imagine this makes finding time for writing extremely difficult. Please bear with me as I try hard to continue and I apologize that I lack the time to reply to each review, but I can't tell you how much they each mean to me. Thank you all SO much and thanks for reading! _

_**Stolen**_

**Part IV: **Not Yet Certain

**Chapter 33**: A Dangerous Business

The window had a crack in it. That's why the room they were staying in wasn't taken up by guests. The window had a crack and by morning the freezing air outside had filtered into the room. Despite the system of heating Hermione had explained, where the heat came out of something called a furnace rather than a burning fire, he could see his breath before him when he awoke. He shivered. It was very cold even for this time of year.

Already in a foul mood, he nudged Hermione to wake her. It took a few moments for her to wake completely a reluctantly abandon warm covers, pulling on her hodgepodge of clothes.

"Here," she said with her voice thick and scratchy with sleep as she threw him a pair of pants that did not fit. He had to roll up the bottom of the legs so he didn't step on them. Without a belt he had to cast a spell on the pants so they would stay in place. Biting back his remarks, he reluctantly accepted the ugly sweater she forced him to wear. He donned the hideous outfit without question mainly because too afraid of the possible response to ask where she had gotten them. They smelled odd, but were clean enough. Silently, he smoothed back his hair and pulled on the hat she had transfigured for him, pulling it down to obscure his face. As if this wasn't grotesque enough, she had also mended them each a scarf that did not really match their outfits, but he did not mention this either.

Instead, he went into the bathroom without a word and examined his reflection in the hotel mirror once he had shrugged on his transfigured coat. He wanted to know what he would look like to someone meeting him for the first time. Staring back at him was a fraction of his own face along with a sweater of a hideous color and the ill fitting pair of pants with a patch on the knee. Disgusting. He would look poor, like a damn Weasley. He sighed, biting back his complaint yet again which he was really rather proud of. After all, he reasoned, she looked as bad off as he did and he was certain she could be no more thrilled about it than he was.

However different from his taste they may be, these muggle clothes would help conceal their identities, especially his since he normally wouldn't be caught dead in something like this. It was sadly obvious that Hermione had put a lot of effort into their disguises from the look of it. She donned a hot pink cap, light pink turtleneck, white scarf, and white corduroy skirt and wool leggings. Her distinctive hair was pulled back in a bun low on her neck. Unless someone really knew her nose, there wouldn't be much to indentify out in the cold street.

With a sigh he shifted his gaze to the window with the crack in it. There was no snow or rain outside, only ice everywhere the dew had frozen solid and slicked it all over. He stared out into the grey, gloomy streets crawling with hordes of muggle while she gathered the few small things they had.

They left the key on the tray and shut the door behind them, leaving it unlocked. She had wished they had enough money to spare to leave him some, but he had protested that they were even. As for what he meant by that, she didn't really need to know, just as he did not need to know where they were going now.

They were out in the early morning chill in no time and Draco was following Hermione onto a muggle double-decker bus. She put in a few coins and he followed her to the seat. They sat still, quiet, apprehensive near the front. He had wanted to retreat to the far back but she was adamant they stay close to the front where fewer people would see their faces and they could get off quickly. He watched Hermione dig in her jeans pocket and extract a piece of paper, the same piece of paper that had read: "Give her the antidote." Only now it read instead: "Waterloo station, platform 10. 9:00 a.m."

She angled the paper so he could read it, then crumpled it up and shoved it back in her pocket. Their bodies did not even brush against one another on the ride. They did not look at one another. A few times he dared a glance around at the sleeping morning commuters sharing their bus only to find them occasionally staring back. Great, now he was paranoid. They got off at Waterloo station and took little notice of the lovely stone outer face of the building. Within they saw the observed the time was only 8:00a.m. What were they to do for the next two hours all while not being seen? He sighed, already bored.

Next to him, Hermione fingered the few pounds she had collected in tips the rest of the way. He was afraid she would tear them in her enthusiasm. The pair of them made their way inside the lovely old stone face of the building and towards Platform 10, but Draco felt uneasy. Surely this place was teeming with wizards and witches as well as muggles. There was no telling who they might run into. Where they being watched followed? He could not shake the feeling eyes were trained upon him, he secrets perhaps somehow showing through his clothes.

"Hermione," he braved from the corner of his mouth. "Are you sure it's safe for us to be here, looking like ourselves?"

"Of course it isn't. This is a horrible place for us to be." He gulped.

"That's not exactly the reassurance I wanted to hear." He told her.

"Just act normal and stay in the crowd. The more people, the less likely it we are to be spotted. You with your hat down and dressed as a muggle with your face obscured you'll be nearly impossible to pick out in a crowd."

"And you?"

"I might duck into a bathroom." She said. Clearly, she was worried, very worried, maybe even scared. He had always wanted to see her scared, but now he wanted anything but that. He tired to act normal, but everything in him was screaming for him to run from the building.

"Are you sure this isn't a trap?"

"I'm sure."

"Well that's the first good news I've heard this morning." He sneered. Then he proposed, "Maybe we should leave and come back closer to 10."

"Maybe." She admitted. "Let's go ahead and get out tickets."

"To where?"

"Anywhere you've never been. Anyone following us won't think of it if we've never been there. Make sure whatever the train is that leaves at 10:15 a.m. Here's the money." Before he could say a word she had slipped into the women's restroom and he wasn't about to follow her. Trying to act as normal as possible, he stood found a seat nearby to be useless in. He had no idea where to go. He used a couple coins to purchase a newspaper behind which he hid his face, feeling rather sly and ridiculous at the same time. He glanced over the oddly stationary headlines out of boredom, feeling impatient for her to come back. Perhaps he would glance some place that seemed inviting to head towards, pretend it was a little vacation. What he found, however, was something else entirely.

On the front page of the muggle paper, his face stared back at him next to Hermione's. He stared at it for several seconds, totally shocked. Then, holding his breath, he read the headline below it. He sat there staring, unable to move or even blink. A few minutes later, someone sat down next to him.

"I almost didn't see you." Hermione told him. He did not respond. "Any sign of him?" He shook his head. "It's almost time," she bit her lip as the stared at the large clock looming over them. They both took deep breaths. He glanced sideways at her. Who were they kidding? Anyone looking for her, anyone who really knew her, would recognize her in a second. He handed her the paper.

"Thanks." She offered breathlessly, taking it and the remaining 50 pence. It wasn't much and Draco wondered what her plan would be from here. Even he, who was unfamiliar with muggle money, knew it wasn't enough for a room and meal in any establishment. Now, however, they had so much bigger problems.

It only took her a moment to gasp. She buried her face further into the pages. He wasn't sure if she was hiding or reading the story.

_**SEARCH CONTINUES FOR ALLEGED YOUTH TERRORISTS**_

_Police are calling the derailment of a train en route to London, carrying mostly students, the result of a terrorist attack. The train was bound for Waterloo station yesterday morning where hundreds of parents eagerly awaited the return of their children for the end of the holidays. That simple wish however was tragically not to come true. We now count the total deaths of the crash at seventy five. The faces above are those of members of a secret terrorist cell, an extremist group of a movement of young people within our nation. Their names are Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy. They have thus far eluded police custody. Despite their harmless appearances and clean records they are to be considered highly dangerous. If seen police should be notified immediately (continued on pg. 47)._

"Oh my Lord. They'll all be after us. The Order is after you, the Death Eaters after us both, the ministry, and the muggle government."

"It was bloody brilliant on their part." He could not help but comment. She offered no argument on the point.

Her wide eyes peaked fearfully over the paper. "We are two of the most wanted people in the world. Even fleeing the country wouldn't work…"

"Cornered like rats." So those people were staring. Had they been spotted already? He followed her sudden move to the telly screens people were watching video of the horrible train wreck. Carnage came to mind. A woman was being interviewed, weeping for her daughter whose body had been identified. They melted into a group that transfixed and unified by horror. The woman's graying hair hung round her thin face in loose curls. She was a mess, but determined.

"We join Agnes Burth here, mother of one of the casualties her twenty year old daughter Gretta Burth. She said she spoke to her daughter just moments before the train derailed and knows the true story behind the horrific events. Mrs. Burth, tell us what your daughter said to you was going on?"

A disheveled but determined looking Mrs. Burth spoke into the microphone, a ridiculous contraption.

"It's not what they say. Those children up there, whoever they are, they weren't on that train. Gretta never saw them."

"MRs. Burth," attempted the reporter delicately. "Isn't it possible she did not see everyone on the train?"

"Quite possible, but according to the information released she was sitting right next to them. She said she and her friend Maggie were sitting next to two men in long black cloaks who rose at some point when the train was high-jacked and began making demands. They were shouting the background when she called."

"These men where they part of the youth circuit as well?"

"Well they were British, but they were grown men. She hung up just after they began killing people. She said her and her schoolmates were going to try to overtake them."

"So wait- startling new information here- you say whoever it was an adult and they actually opened fire on the passengers before the crash? Possibly trying to take hostages and high-jacking gone wrong?"

"Well they didn't open fire exactly,"

"I see, what was happening then?"

"Well they had wands-" Our jaws fought to stay closed. We eyed each other significantly.

"I beg your pardon Mrs. Burth, I thought you said…what was that?"

"Wands. They were attacking with wands. You know, magic. I know it sounds crazy-"

"Please excuse us, ladies and gentlemen. Mrs. Burth here is sadly distraught by her daughter's untimely death-"

"No! No I'm not-"

"Thank you Mrs. Burth and our condolences. Back to you at the-"

Bloody hell they were in trouble now. At that moment something highly inconvenient occurred to Draco. They were standing a meter away from their own faces labeled with the word "terrorists". Some of the people looking uneasily around were bound to recognize them if they stayed there looking like themselves much longer.

Thinking quickly, though not entirely rationally, he did the only thing he could think of to hide their faces. He placed a hand behind her head and brought it forward with as little force as was possible. He spotted the flash of anger in her eyes but closed his own, ignoring the protest. His mouth closed over hers, moved instinctively. She froze against him did not move. He angled his head, pressed against her, and wrapped his other arm around her back. Warmth. Damp. Smooth. Sweet?

She pushed him away. He knew it was coming, but it still wasn't a nice feeling. Why would she push him away? Was it his kiss? He'd certainly never had complaints before. Was it just the fact that it was him kissing her? Did she hate him that much? She looked furious, her fists clenched against his chest. She looked, well, attractive. He leaned in, pressing his lips to her ear so that his breath touched it gently as he whispered harshly, "Our faces. They're going to see our faces." Realization dawned on his companion visibly. Hesitant, almost blushing in that ridiculous way, she tilted her head back and opened her mouth ever so slightly. He found himself stopping halfway in, found himself almost smiling at his little trick, and found himself pretending this was a master scheme and not a last resort for both. It was brief and controlled, repressed, but all the same he couldn't believe she was kissing him back. It had barely begun before it was over. An arm around her, head tucked in intimately, they slid over to their bench and retreated behind their newspapers to separate identical blushes and shy smiles.

They watched the minutes ticked by mercilessly, eyeing the platform compulsively with longing, but at 9:58 he still saw no sign of Snape. Every moment was a roll of the dice. How many times could they be lucky? Abruptly, next to him Hermione squeaked and hid behind her paper. It startled him and he instantly cast glances all around, fingering his wand and anticipating an attack. His nerves couldn't take much more of this. As he wiped the cold sweat beads from his forehead and tried to quiet his pounding heart, he spotted what had made Hermione jump.

On the platform there was no greasy black hair, tall frame, or hooked nose. There was, however, a slightly shorter figure with flaming red hair, a rough looking coat with mismatched pants, and a dark expression.

"Weasley," he growled. Hermione nudged him hard in the ribs. She chose the biggest losers for friends. He dipped his hat further down almost covering his eyes an obscuring his vision. It would certainly not do to have Ronald Weasley recognize him and attack him in broad daylight.

"What was he thinking?" Hermione hissed in his ear. Ron, looking as confused as they were, sat on another bench opposite theirs that was close to the platform. Draco was momentarily taken back by his appearance now that Ron was facing them, so much so that he did not answer right away when Hermione hissed, "What's he doing?"

Weasley looked like he hadn't slept in days judging from the dark circles under his puffy, bloodshot eyes. He looked like he'd been crying too. He was even more thin and pale than usual. There was no fiery temper in his glare, nor any hint of that big, goofy grin. The only thing that looked like Weasely at all was the red hair and the freckles.

"I said what's he doing? I can't see!" she demanded, about to panic.

"Sitting." Draco informed her watching, bored, as the subject did just that. Ron watched the clock until it hit 10 a.m., probably curious as to what he doing there exactly. Then, very nonchalantly- if Draco had not been watching him carefully he may not have spotted it- Ron slipped his hand under the bench for a moment, appeared to perform a spell, and stood to leave. He came towards them, but was so lost in thought he didn't notice them, or if he did he showed no indication he had. Without missing a beat, he passed right by them.

"But what-?"Hermione began. Then realization dawned. "Snape must have sent him to avoid suspicion. He probably had no idea who it was for. That's why he was looking around."

Without waiting, Draco rose, pulling Hermione along, and moved to the other bench where moments earlier one of her best friends had been. They sat there, still trying to hide their faces. Hermione pretended to read him something interesting from the boring muggle papers as he pretended to tie his shoe. He was bent over, his face completely hidden. Still if anyone had followed Ron they were taking an awful chance. His hands were shaking as he gripped under the seat in search of anything Ron may have left. At first, he felt nothing and began to feel a hot bubble of panic swell painfully in his chest. There had to be something!

Finally, his hand grazed a cool, smooth surface. They were cylinders, metal. Giving a quick glance around to see if anyone were eyeing them, he extracted them as surreptitiously as he could. Two thermoses were stuck to the bottom of the bench and it didn't take long for him to figure out what they held. He would bet anything they held polyjuice potion sent by Snape that would allow them to travel undetected. On them was stuck some form of paper. He handed Hermione one and they waited only a moment before rising and leaving the scene. The two walked past the nearest bathrooms even though time was running short, Draco guessed because she wanted to see if they were being followed. He had the strangest suspicion they were. Eventually, satisfied they had lost anyone who may have been tailing them, she indicated a bench where he could wait until she returned from the restroom behind. Ladies first. Let her try the stuff to see if it worked. It was her bloody idea after all.

He nervously tapped his foot as he waited several minutes for her to emerge, fingering his thermos and removing the paper. Taped to it were two ten pound notes. That would certainly help; good ole Snape. The clock's hands were getting close and closer to 10:15. Trains were rolling in, people bustling about, going in and out of the restroom. He was tired of sweating in fear and ready to be in complete disguise, breath a little freer. Why didn't she hurry up already? What if he were attacked out here?

Uh-oh. His eyes widened as a good looking woman with long strawberry blonde hair sat next to him. He looked over at her smiling face, perfect smile, blushing lips, to ask her to move because his wife was sitting there- the first lie that sprang to mind- but the woman startled him by showing him a metallic thermos identical to the one Hermione had held only moments ago. Hermione. He couldn't believe his eyes and couldn't resist his caddy smirk as he told her, "I could get used to this."

She gave him a death glare of course, but also handed him a seemingly empty vial which he took into the bathroom with him along with his thermos.

His shoes were unreasonably loud on the green tile as he found an empty stall and locked himself in. Taking a deep breath, he removed the thermos and the vial from his coat pocket. Perhaps he should have asked Hermione to explain this before, just to be certain. The tiny glass vial that had once held the antidote now showed two curly locks of very dark brown hair, almost black. He preferred blonde, but oh well. People stealing identities couldn't be choosers.

He put the hairs in the mud like potion inside the thermos with a grimace and a gag. That was revolting. He hoped he wasn't sick and lost the whole thing. When he thought it was ready he pinched his nose, tilted back his head, and poured the nasty mixture right down his throat. Two quick swallows and he was gagging, choking and retching over the toilet. Still, he remembered to be careful not to spill the precious liquid, however repulsive it might be.

Gradually his body began to change, but then the process sped up. It was a weird sensation that grew painful as hair pulled itself from his scalp, legs elongated, muscles adjusted and so on. He tried not to yell, but grunted more than few times. Out of breath and on his knees he found himself when the process suddenly stopped. It only took a minute for him to come to his senses and hurry to gather his things, conceal them in his slightly tighter clothes and burst from the stall. The reflection he caught sight of in the mirror warranted a moment's hesitation. He looked handsome, there was no denying that. He wondered if Hermione had chosen this man on purpose, if perhaps this tall handsome thing was her taste. It certainly looked nothing like him, he noted with disdain and maybe a twinge of jealousy. Although he had a strong desire to remove his shirt and inspect this new identity further, he didn't. Instead, he hurried out the door and met the blonde, Hermione, who was standing impatiently at the bench. She recognized him immediately.

"What took you so long? Come on!" he frowned. He had to wait on her too after all. He followed wordlessly, feeling odd in his body, but much safer. As they rushed back toward the platform their train would be leaving from any minute, Draco ran into a man who seemed to come from nowhere and lost his grip on Hermione's hand. The man looked up in surprise and muttered an apology. Draco was frozen. It was Ron Weasley. For a second, Ron looked at him funny, almost as if he recognized him as well, but Hermione pulled him away.

"Come along Sean darling, or we'll miss our train!" her eyes were actually watering he noticed with instant contempt. How stupid, he thought resentfully as they clambered aboard at the last minute, nothing with them except a thermos, a vial, two concealed wands that couldn't be used except in an emergency, and a 50 pence piece.

Needless to say, he was in a foul mood and they shuffled in with all the post holiday traffic returning to their homes. He was hungry too. They hadn't had breakfast. At least, he supposed, they didn't have to worry about being recognized for a while, as long as they could get in to the W.C. every hour or so to drink some more of that God awful stuff. His gloom and Hermione's made them both bristly towards each other, snapping away with little or no provocation. Luckily the ride was only about two hours. They arrived at the much smaller station at. Security had been increased due to the terrorist attack. They had not had any bags to be checked early, but now they would have to pass through detectors and inspectors. Unless he was very much mistaken some of those police were wizards disguised as muggles, and doing a pretty poor job of pretending.

"We'll have to get rid of the polyjuice." She hissed in his ear.

"What?" They couldn't!

"Those sensors will beep when they detect the metal."

Without waiting for an answer, she opened the window and dropped them out onto the tacks with a clang. No one heard the sound through the commotion of exiting onto the platform. They passed the inspection with their strong false bravado. It lasted until they exited the station, smiling broadly, triumphantly with their handsome new faces. But not for long. They only had an hour until the disguise wore off and then they would be sitting ducks.

They hurried on until the pair found themselves soon enough wandering down the High Street of the small southern town. It would almost pass for a human place he thought it the cold mist that blanketed the streets. The street was not unlike those he was accustomed to. It was devoid of those dastardly automobiles screeching around like giant mice. He loathed those things. The decorated stores that were open lining said straight road not unlike his Diagon Alley, but a good deal wider. Roman he supposed. Here and there was a black ribbon in memoriam for the victims of the supposed terrorist attack. She, knowingly as ever, led him to a small pub just off the road, an Irish place the name claimed with a blue exterior. His stomach growled.

"I suppose it's too much to ask that we have reservations at some inn."

"No. No one could know we were headed, not even Snape. You don't have to look so cautious either. We don't look like ourselves remember?" she tried to cheer him up. He wasn't having it. The town was small and muggle, not his idea of an exciting destination to run away to, and this inn was definitely not his taste. He sighed and bit his lip.

"Not for long." He reminded her, not breaking his stoic visage for a moment as they entered the warm interior, the bell clinging above them. Their faces stared at them from the tellies behind the bar.

"I'll be right back." She went to the bar and placed a modest order with his half of the money and returned in only a few moments. He eyed a nice dinner a waitress carried to another table with longing, wishing he had something to smoke as he sat on the bench against the window. He was tired of sitting. She smiled then she returned. For now at least, they'd a have a decent meal and perhaps before they changed back into themselves they could ask where to find the woman from the news.

"What about tomorrow?" he asked sourly. "What about a bed tonight?" he asked sourly.

"Come on, let's have a bite to eat first, shall we?" And then she did it. Out of nowhere, she pecked him on the cheek.

His throat went oddly dry and in spite of himself he fancied himself a tall, dark handsome type sitting in a pub with a tall, lovely blonde on his arm. Of course he was just that, by all appearance anyway. His eyes as they caught sight of his reflection in one of the mirrors behind the bar certainly told him that he was, most especially that _she_ was. Sadly, all the while he was very aware that they were, in fact, very much themselves.

Perhaps though, with nothing left to tie them down, in this new place with these new faces, perhaps they could begin to live a new life. And maybe, if they lived this new life long enough, they would become new people. In the future would he become Sean?

He had never imagined such a notion before, but considering the world had nothing left for Draco Malfoy, it was possible that this new prospect would make him happy again. Who knows what all they could do if neither were themselves…The unending possibilities were both thrilling and frightening. Forgetting one's self was a highly dangerous business. Electric lights twinkled still on tree by the road. At long last, he smiled.

_A/N: So sorry again for the wait and the errors as this was quickly edited. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Please leave a review so I know what you think. It will give me motivation to continue! _


	34. A Stillness and A Silence

_A/N: Despite the many reasons for my absence there's just no excuse for how long it's taken for me to continue. Thank you to all who were patient with me, all who encouraged me, and all of you who have returned to continue reading. As I promised I won't leave you without an end. I have posted this and another short chapter for your enjoyment, but more are coming. I'm working on them now and I truly think it shall be worth the wait. It may help to go back and read the previous chapter to avoid confusion since has been a while. _

**Stolen**

Part IV: Not Yet Certain

Chapter: A Stillness and a Silence

She really should not have done that. Hermione bit down hard on her lip which was considerably wider than she was accustomed to it being. Understandable considering it was someone else's lip. She playfully twirled someone's else's' loose honey-hued curl by her jaw, avoiding his eyes, his startled, inquisitive eyes. As she stared thoughtfully into her soup, she no longer had any doubt about it: kissing Draco was a bad idea. He looked strange now, distracted but not as sad and bitter as before. She had feared he was in danger of letting his grief claim his life and turn him into a man like, well, like Snape. Not to mention, this new face of his was incredibly handsome. Was it any surprise that quite suddenly she couldn't help herself? She blamed it on the stress, on the fact he looked nothing like himself, on frankly anything but … because the worst thing right now, the absolute worst thing she could do, would be to start liking Draco.

Draco. His hair was so dark now, not like Draco at all. Those falcon sharp grey eyes were nowhere to be seen, taken over by a sweet blue. Too sweet, cloy, but even as she stared he was changing- ye gods! Already- changing. Hair darkened as he ran his fingers through it, then it straightened. His face began to softly push these false features. She try to hint to him as best she could by tugging at his scarf, but he just looked annoyed at her gesture. It only took a few moments for her to witness a great sweeping realization make its way across his face. He'd seen her changing too and immediately got her meaning. He instantly made to cover it.

Heads bent down as if in prayer, they attempted to hurriedly finish their soup before braving the streets. Darting out in a panic would only draw more attention. She tried to think fast, but this time nothing was coming. This must be it then. It had to end eventually. She couldn't expect to be hidden from the world forever. Unless she was mistaken, the man at the counter whose reflection she watched in the glass was calling the police. She judged from his suspicious glances in their general direction and the hush that had fallen at the bar moments after their entrance that they were out of time. Now how to leave quickly and inconspicuously?

There was a quite disagreement going on behind them, one she couldn't make out. She nodded to Draco to rise and head for the door taking advantage of the diversion the conflict at the bar created. Would they have enough money for another train? Could they risk another security check? They could always camp in the woods somewhere or steal someone else's hair. How would they find the woman she had seen on the news, the one that knew the truth? Had the Death Eaters or ministry found her first? Should she even bother her?

Her head swarmed with thoughts of escape as they attempted to duck out silently. Before they could get to the door, however, a hand closed tightly around her elbow. She nearly yelped; her eyes flew open wide. Draco stopped, turning angrily towards the culprit.

An older man had stopped her, his face smiling weakly. "Anna," he said softly and just as she was about to tell him he had the wrong person she bit back her retort along with her fear, smiled, and replied instead, "Hello."

"I'm glad you could make it. Is this him? Your fiancée?" His eyes, though his expression was happy-nay overjoyed to see her-were brimming with tears.

"Yes," she forced herself to grin wider. It hurt. She lovingly took Draco's arm. It felt a little better to know he was clinging to her too and that his palms were sweaty in nervousness as well. "This is Sean." It came naturally.

The man came forward and pulled Draco into a quick hug. She held back the hysterical laugh threatening to jump forth at the look of fear on Draco's face. It probably would have shocked him less if the man had thrown a bat boggey hex at him.

The exchanged a glance and even behind false smiles they agreed: This man was very confused, but they could use it to their advantage for a moment if only to get out of there alive. Their savior turned to address the bar full of suspicious eyes, "This is my Gretta's friend from school. Her and her fiancée are staying with us." Silence met his declaration. "I'll see you all at the wake then?" To this a plethora of solemn murmurs arose. He nodded approval and led them safely out the door saying, "We'll let's go back to the house shall we? Seeing you will brighten Agnes' day. "

Hermione didn't hesitate to follow the stranger out into the street, but pulled her arm free almost immediately. He let it go. The surreal, confused gleam left his eye. He was sad and quite disenchanted.

"I hope I didn't frighten you." His deep voice offered without a hint of its former cheer. "We needed to get you out of there. Let's head to my place."

Hermione shot Draco a shocked look that he, in turn, matched. They were both cautious, quite aware of the dangers of following a stranger, but they were equally aware of their limited options. They may be being led to their deaths, but they had nowhere else to turn.

The man, who looked about Mr. Weasley's age or perhaps older and who walked with a slight limp, led them to a restaurant down the street. It was a nice place with neat white handkerchiefs and tables lit for two, more than they could afford for sure. She hesitated in the doorway as a couple of waiters passed them, wearing black suits. They were college students or about that age and they were swamped with work by the look of it. The tables were full.

"Come on," the man continued, leading them to a flight of stairs in the back. The staircase behind the door was plain, dark wood, and lighted by a single wall lamp in contrast to the posh interior of his business. It led to a landing equally unexceptional that faced a single shabbily painted door. The man opened it without hesitation to reveal a comfortable, modest flat.

The walls were a light pink and cream and had a soft blue trim. A grandfather clock, lightly dented, sat in the hall that opened into a den on one side and what could only be a kitchen on the opposite side. The den was lined by windows, hung by curtains that were also cream and embroidered with flowers. A quilt and a sewing basket sat by a dark blue arm chair dappled with tiny pink flowers. A matching arm chair sat next to a bookcase and a lamp table, the sofa next to a fire place topped with more flowers, silver candlesticks, and a family portrait. Suddenly things became horribly clear to Hermione, though Draco still looked confused. She nudged him and indicated the painting resting above the mantle. His eyes widened.

"Agnes, I found them." The man called into the kitchen area, but Hermione did not turn to see their host right away. Her eyes were fixed above the mantelpiece.

The woman in the portrait who sat next to a young girl had a familiar face. Granted, when they had seen her she had red puffy eyes, and was older than she was when that picture was painted. There was a certain quality of hollowness to her as of late that was not captured by the oil on canvas emitting a sentimental glow. When she emerged from the right she had a unique, distraught expression that was instantly recognizable. She was the mother they had seen on the telly in the station, the mother whose daughter had been killed in the death eater attack labeled terrorist, the attack for which they had been blamed.

"Well," she sighed, wrapping her arms around herself and examining them. "Well. I imagine you're tired. Come with me."

Hermione was too shocked to move. "I- I saw you, on the telly and I, well, I'm so sorry for your loss."

"We didn't do it." Draco blurted. She mentally damned his self-preserving ass. "It was wizards. And now,"

"And now they are framing you for it," finished the older man for them.

"Yes," both breathed at once in a mix of relief and incredulity.

"You mean that you believe us?" Draco stammered in disbelief.

"I believe what my daughter said." He explained plainly.

"You poor dears, having to run for your lives, left everything and everyone you know behind. How terrible." The woman spoke with sympathetic eyes. If she had any idea how true it was…"Come along, you can sleep in here."

Simply because they could do nothing else, they followed her down a narrow, carpeted hall to a bedroom, a real bed with goose down pillows. A home stitched quilt. Clean sheets. The bed was simple, well worn and nothing remarkable, but they both looked on it as the most inviting thing either of them had ever seen. Hermione wanted nothing more than to sink into it and fall into a deep, emotionless sleep. She could feel Draco longing for the same thing next to her. Had she not been so exhausted she might have protested sleeping in her daughter's room, but as it was she allowed the woman to shut the door on them. They changed in silence, careful not to touch anything, not bothering to hide behind the dresser or slip modestly into the bathroom, only averting their eyes. They were themselves again now and there was no temptation to look. In a single layer of clothes, finally warm, they slipped into the bed not bothering to divide up sides. There was no need. They already had mentally dozens of times.

The bed was small, intended for one person, but as their bodies brushed each other under the cool sheets neither had the energy to shift uncomfortably away. Neither felt like admitting the contact no longer bothered them. Human touch can be a powerful thing. The grief in this home was palpable, contagious, and grief rejects loneliness.

Almost as soon as he eyes were closed, she drifted into a deep sleep one deep enough to dream. In this dream she wandered barefoot through the empty halls of Hogwarts that were draped in black as if in mourning. Stillness and silence pervaded the halls ways and she heard as one might hear underwater. She was not sad as she might be in a funeral. She was content, at peace. She was walking rather quickly as if on her way somewhere. She reached a junction and stopped as if her dream self had forgotten her destination as her real self had questioned just that. To the right she turned swiftly and broke into a dead sprint, but none of this part of the castle she recognized. Still she ran determinedly. As she ran, in the distance she could hear weeping. It was like a sound the wind made at first, but there was no wind. Then it became an echo, then it sounded as if it were up ahead a long ways. She tried to discern whose voice it was, for whom the voice wept. The more she ran, the less she heard it. She grew tired and hot and out of breath and leaned a moment against the wall and as she panted. As she stood, she began to hear murmurs coming through the wall. The wall was speaking. She pressed her ear to it and listened keenly. The voice, the weeping one, was coming from inside of the wall. Closing her eyes, she tried to listen harder until at last she could distinguish its owner through fragmented words. It was her voice and as she listened closely she caught a few words. "Harry. I'm so sorry I had to do it…Harry…so sorry…please, Harry. Harry."

"Harry." She murmured, the tears falling without the pain behind them. "Harry." She woke herself up to hear his name around her. She had said it aloud. Her eyes opened and took in the room again. From the foot of the bed Draco watched her as he pulled on some black pants the rest of the way. He had an odd look on his face that did not waver as he studied her sleepy expression.

"What?" she asked sitting up and rubbing the sleep for her eyes. She felt well rested for the time in what felt like ages.

"Do you always say his name in your sleep?" With that he looked away and left the room. She flopped back down in the bed. As usual he didn't allow her time to explain. She thought about the strange dream as she forced herself from the bed to dress in the clothes laid out for her. She hesitated, uncomfortable. This was almost certainly her daughter's clothes the woman had loaned them. Could she bring herself to wear it? To refuse might be an insult and her clothes were in dire need of a washing. She decided to change.

What did the dream mean, she vaguely pondered, then caught herself. Meaning? In a dream? She was beginning to sound like that batty old Trelawney looking for answers in odd dreams when she very well knew that dreams were nothing more than a subconscious manifestation of innermost thoughts, worries, desires, and hidden perceptions. She should be relieved she wasn't murmuring Draco's name in her sleep and be done with it. There was more than enough in the real world to be getting on with. Something about that stillness and silence, the very real sound her own voice, continued to tug at thoughts.

Her bare feet padded down the carpeted hallway, their sound masked. She caught the sound of voices conversing in the kitchen ahead as she rounded the bend into the den. Curiosity got the better of her and she paused to eavesdrop.

"Thank you again Miss Agnes."

"Not at all dear," Miss Agnes replied. She was rather like Mrs. Weasley, Hermione thought, only with more money, fewer children, and with a heavy weight note of woe in her voice. "Did you sleep well?"

"The best we have had in a long time, thank you." His voice was still stiff, as stiff as one can be with someone who lost their only child, who happened to save your life, and who was arguably the only person in the world to know you were alive and innocent.

"Where are you two headed?"

"I have no idea. It seems we won't be welcome anywhere."

"Your parents?"

"They died," he hesitated, "on the train."

"I'm so sorry. And her parents…?"

"They died a long time ago." He said softly. Not that long ago, Hermione mentally corrected.

"Were you on your honeymoon?" she ventured, her way of asking politely if the couple sharing a bed in her house was married.

"We were about to be married." Well, she supposed that part was true at least. "My parents were on the train with us." He lied.

"You spent Christmas with your family?"

"Yes ma'am. It's when I proposed."

"That's lovely. And do the two of you have anywhere to go?" she cautiously asked.

"We'll find somewhere." Draco's pride was quick to insist.

"Do you have any money?"

"None that we can access; it's all in the bank and I'm certain they'll be watching them."

"Well you'll just have to stay here for a while." She announced with an air of finality.

"We can't." She heard him stand.

"You must." She gently replied her voice logical.

"We couldn't possibly."

Hermione took that as her cue to enter. "Good morning."

"Good afternoon." She corrected.

"Good afternoon," Hermione amended embarrassedly. It was entirely unlike her to sleep in so late. "Sorry."

"I don't blame you one bit. I see you found the clothes I laid out for you. I thought you might be about the same size. Have a spot of tea, won't you dear."

"Thank you."

"You're quite welcome. Far be it from me to deny help to those in trouble."

"I wish we could repay you for your kindness."

"You can and you'll need these." She presented them with a pair of crisp white aprons. Draco eyed them with only the slightest contempt. To him they were chains of slavery, marks of dishonor, and a cloth to cover what was left of his former identity. Hermione was just thankful he did not banish it from the room.

"Thank you," she blurted out and leapt eagerly from her wooden kitchen chair to collect them.

"Dinner will be a rush tonight, what with the travelers passing through on holiday, and we've got to go set up…things."

"Don't worry we know how to handle it. Really, we can't thank you enough. If there's anything we can do to help, anything at all,"

"I'm sure we can manage. We're having the wake at the funeral parlor because we can't fit everyone up here, but we can't afford to close down for the night it being one of the busiest of the year." She was rambling, busing her voice as she busied her hands with random things in the kitchen, a coat, a kettle.

"I understand. Please don't worry about a thing; we'll take care of it. And we're both so sorry for your loss."

She smiled in that sad, endearing way. "So am I. For you I mean. This should be a time of joy marriage, and graduation, and Christmas and here we are grieving. At least I get to go to the funeral."

Draco's fork clanged to his plate. Miss Agnes offered a hasty apology and went downstairs to attend to tea time, telling Hermione she had taken the liberty of acquiring a few things for them that might be helpful. Hermione wasn't listening. She had never seen Draco so pale, so ashen. He looked like a corpse.

Cautiously, she moved to place a tentative arm on his shoulder. His head was bowed, face covered, but his shoulders were steady. He was not crying. He must not have thought of that before. He hadn't had time to worry about missing the formalities, about saying goodbye to his mother properly, but now… Poor thing, she could not help but think. It would be quite a ceremony too, she was sure. The Malfoys did everything big, even death, she thought bitterly. Hermione could just picture lady Malfoy, pale with that blonde hair, eyes closed peacefully in a satin lined coffin carried down into that crypt. She shivered. That dark, dank place had brought her closer to death than she'd like to recall.

"Are you alright?" she asked dumbly. He nodded soundlessly. She knew how he felt, but knew that telling him so would not make him feel any better. So, after looking hopelessly around, she threw caution to the winds and gave into her instincts, she did what she would have done for Harry or Ron. She wrapped her arms around him and, thoroughly enveloping the last person she ever expected to hug, placed her lips to his hair. It was strange, they had kissed before, shared a bed, run for their lives together, but it seemed all frivolous and impersonal in comparison to a first legitimate embrace. She blushed though there was no one to see, then felt him stiffen and expected him to push her away. He tried to, but for some reason mysterious even to her, she held on and then, like a spell had been cast upon him, he went limp, leaned backwards into her, and even clutched her arms. Both were desperate for some physical comfort, some reassurance that they were not still alone in the dark. She wondered, somewhere in the back of her mind, if they would ever really emerge from the catacombs they had fled or if that stale, cold air would always hang about them in clouds only they could see and that haunted darkness would always pursue them even if they fled to the ends of the earth.

They stayed that way a long while, so long indeed that it began to feel, not awkward as it might have, but too natural and it became difficult to feel whose arms were whose -though that was also perhaps due to their limbs growing increasingly numb. Numb was good though to both of them and neither complained until the clock caught Hermione's eye. She withdrew and tied on her apron. Draco, to her great relief, resisted protest and followed her lead. It felt colder in the room than it had been.

"Ready to learn the restaurant business?" she asked in attempt at cheerfulness.

"Not looking like this," was his level reply.

"Oh! We did just climb out of bed." She recalled a hand flying to her frizzy hair.

"No I mean we look like ourselves. People will recognize us and call the muggle police won't they?"

"Oh yes of course. Well we'll just have to disguise ourselves. Here, I'll make your hair longer," she said pointing her wand at him. He backed away uneasily. "Trust me." She urged. He closed his eyes in dread. She lengthened his beautiful locks and gave them a lustrous look. Regretfully she also darkened the shade, weaving in some straw color along with the white blonde and even adding a hint of soft brown. It was still handsome though she was almost positive he would detest it. At least she had fought back the temptation to turn it red and infuriate him. She had never tried but concentrated hard to add the same color to his eyebrows so it would not look like he'd dyed his hair. She was shocked at the changed she observed. If she were really good she could get the eyelashes to. Now to carefully alter a facial feature of two, she went with the nose, only strengthening its aristocratic air by making it longer. Then she tried slightly puffing his cheeks giving him a boyish look. Quickly she got rid of that.

"Okay," she shrugged. "That's all I've got."

"Well what about you?" he asked, feeling his new hair with a bemused expression.

"I suppose I should change my hair. Black would be too much of a shock. Red?"

"No!" he was quick to reject. She let herself laugh weakly. He joined, but it was forced. He was trying to find it funny.

"Blonde. I like you as a blonde." He added thoughtfully, taking her of guard. She almost didn't do it. Almost. Blonde hair wasn't going to be enough to keep people from recognizing her face. But what could she do with it? It was surprisingly hard to go about changing her own face when she'd seen it that way everyday all her life.

She reluctantly turned to Draco, surely her greatest critic, with a dreadful sigh to match his earlier look. Not sure she was ready to see herself as he saw her she asked, "What about my face?"

"What about it?"

She sighed again. "What do I change? I figure if anyone can tell me that you would be pleased to do so."

He looked at her hard for a minute, squinted, thought and finally sighed resignedly. "Nothing," he said, taking her off guard. She did exactly that. She went to the bathroom to take a shower and have a go at trimming her hair while it was still wet. The shower was most refreshing, but fifteen minutes later her good mood had worn off. As she stood at the sink, starring angrily in the mirror and ripping at her tangled locks impatiently, Draco walked in through the open door of the bathroom munching on something in his hand, too curious or impatient to stay away any longer. He snorted with laughter at her, though he scowled at the same time.

"Do you mind?" she snapped.

He raised his eyebrows. "You're breaking your hair you know?" clearly he disapproved. She whirled around to face him, her wet hair slapping against her face as she did so.

"If you know so much about it, or it bothers you, you do a better job with this, this mop!" Her hair really grated her nerves. Why did it have to be so unruly? Why must she die it as well? She made to spin angrily back around but he caught her wrist and made her gawk as he set down his food and took the brush from her hand. Again, he raised his eyebrows slightly, as if to say 'I will then.' Slowly, she turned back around. She expected it to hurt, a hard yank on the stubborn mess, and she actually closed her eyes in anticipation.

Was it more surprising that it didn't nearly snap her neck or that it felt, well, good? She kept her eyes closed, her face impassive, but now for a totally different reason. She didn't want him to know she was enjoying this. His fingers divided the locks, ran easily through, and caressed the scalp to loosen the roots. They held the hair steadily at the base of the head as the other hand worked out the knot so she felt no uncomfortable jerking. When the knots were out he didn't stop there. He brushed it, smoothly, in all directions until each strand was falling gently where it chose, then back into place, then elsewhere again. The way the hair moved from her skin felt so…nice. The repetitiveness of the teeth against the wet scalp was comforting, the brush of his hands, the pull that was strong but never painful, was so pleasant she realized that she was clenching the sink tightly to maintain her composure only when he noticed her white knuckles and asked if he was hurting her. "No." she managed. Could he hear how much she enjoying this contact? Was he smirking behind her? She couldn't bring herself to peek in the mirror. She seemed only able to breathe along with each stroke. In out. Touch nothing. In out. Touch nothing. She anticipated each touch. She felt a small sort of need for it and each time she held her breath in a tiny gear that it would not come again. It vaguely occurred to her that Draco had done this once before, in the hotel only nights ago, thought it felt like ages, on Christmas Eve. He had been trying to seduce her then, trying to make her fall in love with him, but he couldn't be doing that now. He had no reason to, no tricks to pull, no games to play, no twisted promises to keep, and no one to protect. They were on the same team now.

The touch was probably as much comfort for him as it was for her. People needed to be close to people. It was instinct; it was a need like water, food, shelter, like sex. Even someone like Draco couldn't live entirely without intimate contact. He took it leisurely time as she counted each stroke with a thankfulness that would have astounded either f them had either of them acknowledged its existence. As it was both were utterly oblivious to the fact they were involved in an strangely intimate moment in complete strangers bathroom while the world outside was out for their blood.

Hermione told herself that if she'd like, since her eyes were closed, she could picture anyone behind that her she wanted. Anyone at all. But oddly all she could picture was Draco. She sighed.

That seemed to be enough for him. She heard him put the brush on the sink, felt the wind off his arm as he picked back up whatever he had been eating, felt his clothes against her back as he squeezed out from behind her, and heard him leave. She opened her eyes and her reflection shocked her. Something was drastically different. Her hair didn't look different yet, simply brushed and still wet, maybe a few shades lighter. Her face was white and makeupless, plain and ordinary as ever, but something was startlingly different. Was it her eyes? She concentrated hard on her eyes, stared herself down in the mirror. Something was there, glimmeringly lightly behind somewhere, but what? She closed them again and recalled exactly the feel of the brush she'd felt a moment ago, the peace it brought. She absentmindedly leaned into the imaginary tug, his absent touch. Then she flung her eyelids open again, hoping to catch whatever was there before it had time to hide again. This she time she spotted the cause right away and gave a little jolt of astonishment. That was it. She hardly recognized herself. She was smiling.

_A/N: Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed it. Please review!_


	35. The Impossible Man

Disclaimer: As usual, I don't own it and no copyright infringement is intended. Respect to J.K.'s world and characters.

A/N: In a sorry attempt to make up for the horrendous wait I've posted another short chapter I'm rather fond of because it's creation stopped my block and allowed two more chapters I'm editing to be created. Hope you enjoy. Please review!

**Stolen**

Part IV: Not Yet Certain

The Impossible Man

Draco was grateful that their work kept them in the kitchen where no one could see him. It wasn't just about hiding from the police and the Death Eaters and the Order. He was also wary of seeing people he didn't know in this god-awful apron. Servant garments! If anyone who knew him saw him they'd have no need to kill him for he'd surly die of embarrassment. If it was someone he didn't know they might take him for some sort of common bus boy with brown hair. He grimaced and it had nothing to do with the disgusting pot he was scrubbing _by hand_.

"Almost done," Hermione encouraged at his side, wiping her nose with her elbow, where suds stopped and her sleeve began. It left a few tiny soap bubbles there so he shook his head at her and rubbed them off with his finger, dried by his apron. She laughed slightly, looking away. He eyed her pile of dried dishes. She'd washed twice as much as him again. She had more experience, she'd explained a hundred times, being her usual helpful self. Her constant attempt to be positive was annoying and he didn't enjoy being less capable than anyone, even if it was servant work. At least this task was mindless, the warm water numbing. Of course he preferred cooking. It was much like potions class, you learned the recipe, followed instructions, and it came out right. A good smell was rewarding in its own way, he had to admit, and they all commended him for his ability in that department, praise which he readily accepted. Who would have guessed Draco Malfoy would be a good cook? He shook his head at the thought.

"You did better today." She told him. "Want to take some potatoes up for supper? They smell great and I'm starving."

"Sure." He answered. "Do you think Felix and Agnes will want some of that bean soup with ham and some of your scones?"

"I'll go ahead and pack it you'll sweep up quickly." She offered. He sighed and grabbed the broom. It had been weeks since he'd protested in outrage at being assigned such a job. At first, it had been an insult to his name until he'd realized that was no longer his name. He was no longer a Malfoy and so it was no shame for his family, for the generations that had maintained such dignity, for him to be sweeping the floor.

"I'm going to head out." The hostess Stacy said, hanging her apron on a corner hook.

"Where's the fire?" asked Hermione friendly, packing four containers.

"Party tonight. Do you want to join me?" Draco didn't even look up. Parties were out of the question. In fact leaving the building was out of the question. "I mean you don't really go out that much." She commented shyly.

"We're trying to help out Felix and Agnes." Hermione replied defensively, not that she would go to a party if it hadn't meant risking her life, he thought with dry humor. Who was he kidding? She probably wouldn't go if staying in meant risking her life. He chuckled at the floor.

"I doubt they'd be lost for one evening by themselves," was Stacy's quick reply. He didn't need to look up to know Hermione's expression had changed.

"Not tonight." Her tone was final.

"Suit yourself, Anna." Stacy shrugged. "Night Sean."

"Night Stacy," Draco replied automatically with a smile. She smiled flirtatiously back as she slipped out the back door into the alley way. The wind whipped in as the door shut. He wondered how it felt outside now. It seemed so long since he had the simple pleasure of fresh air.

Hermione huffed irritably as she finished up. He thought it was funny that she got so annoyed with Stacy, though he had to admit the girl had gall to flirt with him before the eyes of his supposed fiancée. It was good though because a lack of concern would be a dead giveaway as if his ignorance of all things manual and electric or their weird reclusive tendencies weren't already bleeding obvious. Thankfully, the young people that worked there weren't the most observant. Stacy barely even noticed Hermione, or Anna, existed, but she was plenty eager to speak to Sean.

Yes, it was Sean now and it had been for weeks. He didn't think much of the name, but it had its advantages. Sean could sweep a floor, for instance, without his pride being demolished- something Draco could never have done. Sean also found he liked unspeakable muggle food creations like Captain Crunch and Pop Tarts. Sean had allowed himself a great deal of laughter and even a bit of pride when he'd finally solved the mysteries of operating the microwave oven. It wasn't so bad if Sean found himself reading muggle romance novels about vampires aloud when Hermione had burned her hands in grease and nearly cried because she was unable to hold her book. Sean had little qualms admitting he liked the wretched things, or at the very least wanted to know what happened in the end. Hermione had not said a word when the bandages had been removed and he had continued to be the one to read. Nor did she do more than smile when he asked her to tell him about the new book she was reading afterwards. She simply went back to the first page and began reading aloud from Rebecca. They had to have some way to pass the time didn't they? Sean could feel almost no chagrin whatsoever as he sat with the friendly Felix in his den and watched silly muggle sports and ridiculous programs on the telly. Yes, there were advantages of being Sean, though Sean had no family and no money. Sean spent his days working in the kitchen of a restaurant, brooms and dishes and aprons. Sean never went for walks, or out to parties. In fact Sean never went anywhere, save the muggle supermarket a couple times and church once to please Agnes.

Sean could do things Draco never dreamed of doing though, like look at Hermione from behind as she locked up the place and tell her, as they walked upstairs, that her hair really did look nice in that blonde braid. Sean could laugh at her blush as he hugged the muggle woman who had taken them in. He could sit next to Felix as he smoked and kindly agree to a game of chess where the pieces remained stationary and lifeless on the board while the news broadcast their images for the hundredth time. He could snigger as he heard Hermione going over her ideas that would save the restaurant hundreds of pounds. She was in charge of the entire inventory now; her sharp wits had made themselves known quickly. That mind refused to be wasted. She sought out school work. Sean could admit he was perfectly happy to remain in the kitchen with simple tasks and savory smelling foods. Felix and Agnes had embraced his new found talent as well, allowing him to experiment in the kitchen and even adding a few creations to their menu. Draco wouldn't dare do such a thing.

"Who shall read tonight?" asked Agnes from across the small, round wooden table in the perpetually spotless kitchen. Draco swallowed his soup and bit into the buttery scone, not bothering to answer.

"It's my turn." Hermione announced. Agnes smiled, Felix grunted, a typical response. They were the most generous, amiable company anyone could have hoped for and their loss, still fresh in their hearts, was unimaginable. Still, they were constantly caring towards the couple they harbored, protective even. Hermione and Draco made sure not to be a bother and never left a thing out of place in Gretta's old room, but they felt so welcome in this small, warm home, they hardly allowed themselves to feel guilty for the danger they placed these selfless people in by being there. They tried very hard to help in what ways they could; working hard in the restaurant, keeping the flat clean, providing pleasant company in what would otherwise be a tragically quiet household. They did what they could but it was very little in comparison to what they received Draco felt. Why were these people so unthinkably nice?

There was more to them even than that, Draco reflected as he took his seat on the settee, pulling Hermione to his side, a hand wrapped absentmindedly around her waist. This couple baffled him in more ways than their kindness and their surprising wit. Perhaps more miraculous than the fact muggles could be so astute, so well read, so loving, was the fact that they were still in love, though they had been married thirty years. It didn't look like you'd expect it to, like he expected it to anyway. It wasn't flowery or all golden, like love in books and paintings. It was sort of raw, but it was better somehow.

Thirty years. Never in his adolescence had he ever once seen a relationship he'd envied. Sure he'd seen people he envied, girls he wanted, coveted. He'd never wanted to go very long without a girl on his arm, but there was never a couple whose relationship he'd wanted. School age romances made him sick in their sweetness and were over before very long. His parents certainly didn't give him much to hope for, or the rest of his family and acquaintances for that matter. Adults had always just seemed to make due, to be comfortable. From what he'd seen, most people cheated, most people fell out of love eventually, but thirty years? He stared at them as Hermione read, resting his chin in her shoulder thoughtfully, inhaling the scent of her shampoo.

It had been no easy task, keeping them convinced that he and Hermione were truly in love even with all their practice. They had very little privacy, very little space, and these people knew better. They knew real love and weren't to be easily fooled by a cheap counterfeit. So the younger pair had had to make theirs look like the real thing. They held hands until it felt normal and kissed each other on the cheek in thanks for any small token. They stayed close to each other, which was probably wise anyway. Agnes had spied him brushing her hair on more than one occasion as she passed their room. They read together, they shared a bed, they never argued. Hermione seethed with jealousy when Stacy flirted with him, he had snapped at a boy in the supermarket for making a cat call to her. For the time being, at least, they seemed convinced and he had to admit, forced civility made both their lives easier. He felt very clever having fooled this couple so well, very clever indeed.

Thinking of that to himself, he pushed his head into her hair and inhaled to hide his laughter, tickling her neck. She fought a giggle. It brought a sort of weird satisfaction to make Hermione smile, a real smile. It felt nice to laugh easily when she made a joke. He'd never guessed she had a sense of humor. It was nice to reminisce about their professors with their benefactors, as they called them, to have someone who also remembered the world that had vanished before their eyes. It was nice not to sleep alone, to share nightmares.

When Hermione finished the chapter it grew quiet in the den. Draco looked out the window were a slight rain fell on the dark night. He plucked a sweet from the jar on the sill handing one to Hermione as well whose head now rested on his shoulder. She yawned, calling Felix's attention.

"Not tired already are we?" asked his gravelly, paternal voice. "It's a Saturday night for goodness' sake. When I was your age I'd be out 'till two or three in the morning."

"But we can't go out," said Hermione reasonably.

"Well that's no reason to sit around sleepy like a couple of old people!" he said in disgust. The rest of them laughed at that.

"What? I'm much older than you and I can still have fun."

"Oh really?" Draco challenged from the settee. Felix took them all by surprise. He stood with a happy gleam in his eye and limped into the kitchen. Agnes leapt from her seat with surprising spring.

"Help me move this furniture out of the way, won't you dear?" she asked. Hermione and Draco exchanged worried glances but did so without hesitation. That vivacious gleam was a tad disconcerting. What where they going to do? Summersaults?

It soon became clear as Agnes moved to the old record player and took out several albums. "Something lively Agnes dear," requested Felix as he came back in, a bottle and four glasses in hand. "A good party in my day only took a few people, a good drink, some music and dancing. What do you say?" He asked, offering Draco a glass.

"Cheers." He replied, drinking it with shrug. A wide grin stretched across Felix's face and Agnes clapped her hands. Hermione laughed and took her glass too, a little bemusedly. They danced to a few swing numbers first, mostly fast. There was no need to feel self-conscious around Agnes and Felix though they danced well even with Felix's bum leg. He told them of smoky nights in his prime at dance clubs like The Calico Cat and how he'd met her there, in his uniform. Her hair was up in curls; her dress was yellow with a pink trim. How could he remember all that? She had smelled like Jasmine and he had smelled like scotch. They all laughed and danced to some Frank Sinatra. Draco pressed a kiss to Hermione's cheek.

"Tell us about how you first met." Agnes sighed from Felix's shoulder.

Draco's brow creased. His nose wrinkled. The truth came out before he could stop it. "She asked me if I'd seen a toad."

Hard laughter followed this, then more drinks, and a new album was on, this time the Beatles. They sang along here and there, not bothering to worry about the neighbors. It was Saturday night and Draco felt warm and merry, they way he was supposed to feel. Maybe it was the drinks. When the last song ended, a slow one by Bing Crosby, Draco dipped Hermione and leaned in to kiss her, copying Felix as usual to avoid suspicion, but then he stopped. It looked like Agnes and Felix had forgotten they weren't alone. They weren't doing anything private but their eyes were, it was hard to say, it was as if they were alone not only in the room but in the world. The closest he'd even come to that look was hearing it described in countless books. Draco looked down at Hermione, who looked at them too. He pulled her up and spun her once. She blinked up at him confounded. The grandfather clock struck one. Time for bed, the agreed in a wordlessly nod, and they slipped off to bed.

Lying next to Hermione in the dark Draco's mind wondered, fuzzy with the alcohol. Something was bothering him but he was too tired to figure out what was nagging his mind, keeping it from rest, and tearing up his nerves. He tried to focus on the memory of this evening, possibly the best party he'd ever been to, he thought groggily.

"Draco I was thinking about what Stacy said."

"That we don't get out enough? Me too." Was that what was bothering him?

"Well yes that's true but I was thinking more about what she said about them being fine for one night alone."

"Of course they would. They don't need us at all do they?"

"Exactly. Hasn't it occurred to you that they haven't had a moment alone since we came here?"

"Oh." He knew he was getting restless, but he had been too selfish to imagine how inconvenient this was on their hosts.

"Maybe it would be safe to go out a bit one night, maybe it would even help relieve suspicion. If they had any clue we were here, they would have come already right? Didn't the news say they thought we'd fled to France?"

"Well yes," he reluctantly agreed. It still felt too risky.

"Maybe we should leave for a weekend. It would give them a break and if someone did spot us we'd still spear to be on the move." He couldn't argue with that. It made perfect sense. Damn that girl.

"Fine," he agreed with a sigh. "But no more decisive talks when I'm sleepy."

She giggled and it sent a funny sensation down his body. He had the funniest impulse to reach out and touch her. He must have had more liquor than he thought. They had touched, woke up in overlapping positions. It hadn't been too awkward. She'd woken up crying and he'd put his arms around her comfortingly, mostly so they could go back to sleep, He'd let her wrap herself around his waist when nightmares had left him shaking in a cold sweat. It had helped. Surely it wouldn't be too weird if he reached out for her now. It was a cold February night.

She didn't stiffen at his touch. That was good. He could feel her expectancy, and knew she wondered what he wanted. He tugged her towards him and she followed trustingly. He couldn't imagine why. What was she wearing he wondered suddenly then shook the idea from his head. Only boredom and severe isolation could make him see Hermione Granger in such a way he'd wonder what she was wearing under the sheets. Felix could remember what Agnes had been wearing the night they'd met, even the perfume she'd worn and he couldn't recall what he'd seen Hermione in only moments before. What had she worn today besides her work apron?

Still, he tried very hard to remember so as not to embarrass them both by asking. He thought it was a knee length nightgown, perhaps some sort pink in color. No purple. It was lavender, but faded, knee length. And tiny white flowers speckled it. She'd also worn tall white and lavender striped socks. Her arms must be cold uncovered. He absentmindedly rubbed her shoulders. She shivered.

He pressed himself against her, draped an arm over her. He let his face wallow in her hair. That shampoo did smell really good, strawberries. Bending his head forward slightly he kissed her, just a little. It was small kiss he'd meant to place in hair that hand landed somewhere behind her ear or along her neck. He suppressed an odd urge to laugh as he caught her sharp intake of breath. What had worn when they'd met, he vaguely wondered. Hogwarts robes probably. She'd asked if he'd seen a toad. And what had he said? Sorry no. He hadn't known then, hadn't guessed, she was a mudblood, Potter's friend. Of course she hadn't been Potter's friend then, hadn't even met him. Ha. He'd known her longer than Potter had, he thought amusedly. What would Potter say if he saw them now? Like this?

Tired, he closed his eyes and welcomed sleep confident that Hermione Granger would allow no more than this, but would not object to being close to him either. Something he once thought was impossible. Yes, the impossible. He'd done the impossible. Draco Malfoy hadn't done it, Sean had, he reminded himself. Draco wouldn't be caught dead with Hermione Granger in his arms, but there were sometimes small advantages to being Sean.


	36. Everyone Has Needs

**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter does not in any way belong to me. Please don't sue me.

**A/N:**_See? I told you I wouldn't make you wait too long this time. Thanks for reading and to all who reviewed the last chapter! Also, this story has been included in a dramione livejournal quiz and someone made a lovely banner for it there. Thanks so much to luckei1 for telling me. As my profile says, I love banners and fan art so if anyone else has some artistic talent out there I'd love to see it. Enjoy and, as always, please review! The more reviews, the sooner an up-date will come._

**Stolen**

**Part IV:** Not Yet Certain

**Chapter 36:** Everyone Has Needs

She wasn't sure it when it started, how it began, or even why it happened and at that moment she didn't particularly care.

Maybe love really was contagious. Maybe if you were around two people so in love for long enough you'd inevitably be infected as well. Or was it possible that what people said was true? If you pretended to feel something long enough, then eventually you would feel it. Perhaps it had nothing to do with those romantic notions at all and it was only the isolation that harbored their attachment, the danger that made her feel reckless, the firelight that made him so painfully handsome, and the wine that made her body burn in the chilly night air. And, if that were true, maybe it also had nothing to do with Draco. What a relief that would be to imagine that, under the same circumstances, she would be just as happy with anyone who pressed her back against a hotel room desk and kissed her. She was fairly certain that was what he'd done a moment ago though their seemed to be gaps in her memory. She could recall she'd had her back to him, doing something at the desk and laughing, and then he'd pulled her around suddenly and kissed her like, well like he'd wanted to do it. What on earth had he been thinking?

Whatever it was, she thought no more about it. In fact, for once Hermione Granger was utterly free from thought. She only felt and felt so thoroughly, so carefully, everything. Felt his hands gripping her arms tightly, squeezing and releasing in time with his lips pressing and lifting away, pressing and lifting away. It was almost too hard, almost bruised her, but it felt good. She also felt the wet warmth of his mouth, tasted him as she had never bothered to do, never dared to do.

Wind from outside slipped in from the open window and, touching their hot skin, sent chills up it. Rain blew in. No one made for the window.

They shivered and unconsciously pressed their bodies closer together. She was surprised how easy it was, how her every curve melded to him. How her head seemed to just fit against his chest and his arms folded neatly around her, as easily as their lips conformed to one another's shape. Just as his head seemed to be made to fit in the curve of her neck and as if her hands were sculpted to clutch his shoulders as he kissed her there in a slow, daring manner. Perhaps there was something to this after all.

She felt his arm muscles ripple pleasantly under her fingers as his hands moved up and down the length of her calves, sliding her dress as they did so. His touch was cool as his fingers slid along each curve, making the smooth skin rise in goose pimples, but she didn't protest and the friction soon created heat there. Heat from her own body welcomed it in turn. It was a kind of warmth she was unfamiliar with, but she embraced it and it blazed all the stronger on the verge of making her dizzy. Already, she felt numb and unreasonably elated, inhibited as if drunk. She felt like leaping into anything, the faster the better so it might make her head spin faster and her heart pound a little more fervently.

Indeed, her body leapt at the chance when his touch lifted her leg effortlessly up. Again, she was surprised with what easy and neutrality she repositioned herself. She had only to sit upon the desk against the wall by the window allowing one leg to wrap around him and the other to slide to rest loosely in between his. Their kiss, still unbroken and still curious, deepened until she began to move against him without thinking. There came an unexpected gratification when she felt him respond immediately. The thunder shook the desk pressing against her and his touch grew more desperate, his kiss more urgent. It was not a kiss for a kiss's sake any longer, it was a nudge and she felt it immediately.

Changing directions, she kissed along his jaw line where stubble barely rose and was pleased by the sensation of the rough touch against her sensitive lips, liked the strangled growl he made when she did so, and loved the rumble she felt in his chest as he did so. She pressed her face to that warm, solid place before her and placed a very tentative kiss there as well which, she reckoned, he barely felt through his dinner jacket. She almost felt regret in removing it as he looked so sharp in that suit, but slid the shirt down his arms slowly so he could shrug out of it in favor of the skin that lay underneath.

Hermione would have never before described herself as greedy if asked, but when she got a good look at the chest she had been so careful to shy away from, she felt nothing but the strongest, wildest, most irrational greed she had ever experienced. She wanted his chest, every inch of it. Her hands examined it first, but her mouth followed of its own accord as he stood completely still and watched her work her way across his muscles and his collar bone, gently, then curiously, then passionately running her finger nails down his back and felt him shiver. Adrenaline charged through her veins at the power it gave her being able to elicit a response so palpable in his body. How ironic it was that at the same time she was so helpless, so utterly out of her senses, so out of control. She was a scarf flittering in the wind, wild and formless, moving wherever beckoned without a thought. Without a thought. Such a pleasant plane of existence.

Their breathing was synchronized she realized as it grew raspier, heavier, louder in the silent room. His warm breath on her skin felt somehow sweet, as if her skin could taste it. She could feel the heat coming of her own skin in waves radiating off him as well. If she could have seen it physically she was sure they would have been surrounded by halos of golden heat mingling together and getting hotter and hotter until, despite the chill outside and the cracked window, sweat began to bead and trickle down pleasantly moistened skin.

Finally, she allowed herself the forbidden luxury of running her fingers through his silky hair and was surprised by how much they both enjoyed this. In this way she continued, her mind feeling more and more like she had inhaled ether, as he kissed her hair, her neck, as felt his arms, with tensed muscles, snake their way around her and grip her legs with same enthusiasm she'd shown his chest. Again they kissed, by that time pressed so closer together that there was no air between them, and hands flew in a flurry of greed like starving birds working themselves into frenzy until they were forced to pull away for air. Taking a moment's pause, they found their faces pressed to rest against each other, a posture so intimate in nature that it startled her even given their most recent behavior. There, suspense and mounting energy clung to the air, air filled with their panting, their sweat, and the most agreeable fire dancing along their skin. Braving the solidity of her senses she opened her eyes to see Draco's grey ones tossing madly like a storm and the pupils swelling lustfully. But coupled with his expression was a question.

He stopped moving his body against hers as he awaited her answer and she felt something beneath her skin, some minute flicker of emotion besides burning lust. He was asking her permission. She was shocked, but only for a moment. For in doing this, he was asking her to think and she mentally groaned as thoughts came rushing back to her: thoughts of why she should and shouldn't, thoughts of waiting for someone special, thoughts of betraying her best friend. Thoughts of responsibility and orders. Thoughts of how this all could possibly end.

Her mind was going again and there was no stopping it. She took an unsteady breath and closed her eyes, allowing all the things she had pushed away to come in like a tidal wave, crashing upon her and extinguishing the fire. She considered his loyalty, his bravery, his recent kindness. She pondered how she had liked pretending these past few weeks to be in love. How she had not been pretending today. Was it time to reveal the truth for the Order and let him make his decision? She thought of pushing her two worlds together: the world with Harry and the world with Draco. She had tried it before with her parents' world and the magical world. The magical world had killed them. Would the same thing happen if she tried to force these two together? Would one destroy the other?

A week ago she never would have dreamed she would find herself in such a situation. She had never in her wildest dreams pictured herself having sex with Draco Malfoy. She had began her week in the kitchen on Felix and Agnes' restaurant, The White Elephant and Lily, just as she had the three weeks previously. Something had set her off just the day before they were to finally leave for a sort of vacation. Was it really that small incident that led her to this rash action? Could it be all this was about pride and jealousy?

The day had begun unbearably monotonous as ever. Her life was comprised of about twelve hours in that kitchen and a few hours in the apartment. Her world was painfully small. Often she longed to step into the alley way behind the store and take a smoke break like the waitresses and bus boys. Their desperation for fresh air was such that she and Draco sometimes fought over who was to take out the trash. For out there by the bin in the alley one could see the sky without peering through glass and feel the wind and the rain on ones skin. One could smell though the smell wasn't always pleasant. From there one could see a street with people, fresh people she had never seen, walking and speaking. They passed her by, moving forward with things to do and places to be. She could only stand in the alley a few minutes before she was missed and before she risked being seen. When she returned Draco always glared jealously at her, but she knew it was probably entirely subconscious. She might do the same thing to him. When he was out, every second ticked away agonizingly slow, her breath caught in her chest, knotted there. She waited anxiously for him to return, or to hear a strangled yell, a crash, or to see that horrible, blinding green light. She braced herself to run for her life. The only thing worse on her nerves than this claustrophobic lifestyle were those occasional moments of intense anxiety. For some reason, that day just after lunch rush when it was Draco's turn to take out the trash, her nerves could finally take it no longer. As she sliced carrots, she found her hands trembling. As if to take out her frustration she cut the vegetables harder but her whole arm began to quiver violently. So she tried to ignore it, sighing exasperatedly, and then promptly sliced through her finger. As red poured onto orange and stained the cutting board, she growled with frustration and hurried to the sink to wash it.

Damnit, it would need stitches. Looking to see if the kitchen was clear Hermione waited for Tommy to walk back out into the dining room to whip her wand out as inconspicuously as possible. She was not sure how using magic would draw the ministry's attention or even how great of a hold Voldemort had on the ministry. However, not healing the cut by magic would mean she had to go to hospital though and the police would catch up with them in no time. Holding her breath, she made to perform the simple healing spell only to jump what may have been two feet in the air at a faint crashing sound from the alley way. Immediately, she flew to the window over the sink where she had watched Draco before and what she saw there made her vomit into the sink.

The hot kitchen felt steamier, her stuffy existence grew more constricted, her chest hurt. Looking down at her vomit in the sink as if it had personally offended her she began to feel as f she were dragging air into her lungs that did not want to be there. She turned on the tap to clean the mess out of the sink and wiped her face with cold water as Draco stumbled back in followed closely by Stacy. Hermione's peripheral vision caught the glance Stacy threw her way and she jerked her head sharply in the other direction. Being trapped in that tiny, sweltering room became too much for her and she reached forward to try to pry the window open for the gust of fresh air she so desperately needed. The window stuck.

Panic constricted her chest and parched throat. Pushing with all her strength the window was still obstinate and she began to grow more frantic in her actions, her breath coming in sharper and faster gasps, as she imagined suffocating in there, burning alive unable to get out. She must get the window open! Again and again she tried, struggling for breath, like an animal clawing at a cage she made helpless sounds. She wanted to scream.

A hand reached over her shoulder and twisted the metal lock above the window. It came free instantly and she stuck her entire head out it and heaved in the air from the garbage alley. As she did her head began to stop spinning and her sight became clearer. She stopped sweating and her trembling eased off; her breath came evenly and the pain in her chest melted away. Her eyes stung with embarrassment. She could see Draco now looking at her in a half fearful manner. How could she be so silly to not unlock the window first? And of course she could not have died! She had only to walk out the door should the window not open. Somehow that had not occurred to her then. Little had, she had seen them out the window and something had pushed her over the edge. It was as if the two of them had been walking a very thin line, a tightrope even, and she had fallen. No, he had pushed her.

"You're bleeding." He calmly brought to attention, though the blood was really pouring by then. She ran it under the tap that was still on and switched it off. Then she wrapped it cloth tightly, but it bled through. Alone in the kitchen he cast a quick healing charm and ran his finger gently over the healed spot. With that, she tore off the apron and went directly to the stairs.

"Hermione," Draco's voice sounded worried behind her as he dropped what he was doing to follow. She didn't stop or even hesitate. She ran, yes, ran, childishly up the stairs and down the hall to the bedroom and locked the door behind her, launching herself on the bed and burying her face in the pillow. She heard Draco assure Miss Agnes that everything was alright and then knock tentatively on the door.

"Hermione?" She gritted her teeth to keep from yelling curses at him. "Hermione open the door." She did not move. He could unlock it himself with a simple spell, but he didn't seem to have the courage which was good since she planned to pounce upon him the moment the door opened and let her fists fly. She squeezed the covers in her balled fists more tightly. "Hermione please," he hissed, anxious no doubt to continue their cover. She bit her lip to keep from screaming. "We've got work to do!" he tried to appeal to her reason and sense of obligation to their benefactors. She would have none of it. Hermione had dug her heels in and was not about to budge an inch. Angrily, Draco gave up and stomped back downstairs making up some excuse for her behavior, an excuse she would have to learn before she confronted Agnes in order to keep their stories straight.

Miss Agnes was a wise and compassionate woman who knew to give Hermione some time alone before coming to stand outside the door and ask if she was alright. By that time Hermione managed a strangled "yes thank you," and went into the bathroom. There, she took a nice hot shower and, the tangle of emotions having caught up with her, she sobbed mercilessly. Agnes very pointedly pretended not to hear it.

She was furious with Draco with being so foolish. She was irate at his lack of maturity his carelessness in endangering all they had worked for in a moments selfish impulse. It was, well it was downright disrespectful to her. Yes, that's what it was. How dare he? How dare he go into some back alley when they were supposed to be in love, happily engaged, and snog with some muggle waitress! How was she supposed to show her face in that kitchen with everyone thinking he was cheating on her? How could he endanger their precious cover, pathetic as it may be, to have a good snog with that tramp? She was stupid, had horrible fake blonde hair, and smelled strongly of cheap cigarettes. She had thought Draco at least had better taste than that.

It was selfish of him too. Did he think he was the only one with raging hormones? He must know he wasn't the only one to have a dream he didn't wish to share; they did share a bed after all.

It was the lack of respect, the foolishness, and selfishness that made her so angry with him and it was her hysterical antics that angered her with herself. She certainly could not face them so embarrassed now. It had been, she told herself, a culmination of nerves and the shock of seeing him behave so recklessly that had put her into a panic. Really, how could she have believed she was trapped and couldn't breathe? Or not known to unlatch the window first?

She had no right to be that angry either she supposed. How was she going to justify her overreaction to him? He would undoubtedly think that he was jealous, which was an entirely ludicrous notion.

Well, maybe not entirely ludicrous. She was jealous that he would be so desperate that he would seek out that, that trash, before he'd even try to do anything with her. He'd rather risk everything to kiss some muggle by the garbage bins than bother to kiss the girl he slept next to for the past months. He was that desperate and still not desperate enough for her to tempt him? That had to be the worst insult he had ever given her, and that was saying something. She cried harder.

When Hermione emerged, looking no doubt worse for the wear, Agnes had a hot cup of tea ready for her. Hermione took it with a grateful and teary smile, feeling a surge of fondness for the woman. The tea felt good down her raw throat.

They sat quietly for a few moments and then she spent most of the rest of the day in her room. Draco avoided her like the plague. She heard him speaking to Agnes and Felix, making her excuses, telling them that they did intend to still go out that weekend for a bit of fresh air if they could manage. It was a Sunday and the restaurant would be closed.

She lay on her side, unable to face the world in her mortification. Draco brought in her dinner and left it on the inn table. She could not bring herself to touch it. Eventually, he came to bed and got ready in silence, too afraid to speak to her it seemed. Things would look better in the morning, she told herself, though none of her believed it. At least they would get a day away and some fresh air. Agnes had been sweet enough to steal their customer's hair over the past week for Draco and was kind enough to give her several strands of precious hair from her daughter's hair brush. This generosity had brought Hermione to tears.

"I can't take this," she had said.

"You must. You've made us very happy staying here so we did not have to be alone. Not the same, but still very happy. You deserve to be happy too."

She had taken it. She was that desperate. She felt the mattress move under her. She could hear Draco's breathing and the voice leapt from the depths, where she believed it forever buried, into the foreground of her mind. She wished he would stop _breathing_.

Disgusted with herself, her body shook with yet another silent sob. She bit her lip to suppress it, mumbling to the voice to stop over and over. She didn't realize she was speaking out loud until Draco whispered, puzzled, to her "I'm not doing anything."

She gasped quietly in surprise. Was she losing her mind? Had she finally snapped? No doubt he was lying next to her wondering the same thing. Perhaps that was what made him look so frightened.

"Are you okay?" he asked tentatively.

"You're an ass." She stated matter-of-factly.

"I know," he sighed. "It was reckless and stupid and selfish and immature. She hit on me."

Hermione said nothing.

"She tasted awful," he offered, as if that made it better.

"Like cheap cigarettes I would imagine."

"I suppose." He sighed. "I never dreamed it would upset you so much. No one else saw you know?"

"You can't be sure of that."

"Yes I can. She came on to me, she kissed me, I pushed her off. Everyone else wondered what was wrong with you and I threatened her not to tell anyone."

"She kissed you?"

"Yes! Do you really think I would kiss that filthy-"

"Muggle?"

"Whore."

"Oh."

"I promise, our cover is intact, and if you're that worried about it we'll shop for a new identity during our trip. Wherever you want to go. I'm just a little hesitant to leave Agnes and Felix, they've been so nice to us and they haven't had the house all to themselves-"

She rolled over and cut him off. "You're worried about them?" she said in disbelief.

"You know it's rather insulting that you are always so shocked that I'm not heartless and spineless. There is evidence to the contrary you know."

She almost felt bad. Almost. Something had tweaked a nerve first. "Insulting? You want to talk about insulting? Can you think of a bigger insult than what you did?"

"Insulting?"

"Yes!"

"Insulting how?"

"How would you like it if you saw me going at it with another guy, some dirty muggle, in the back of an alleyway when I was supposed to be happily engaged to you?"

"Better than a Weasley." He sneered.

"What does that have to do with anything?" she demanded, sitting up angrily.

"Shsh love, you'll wake Agnes and Felix."

"Don't call me that."

"Sorry," he amended sourly, "force of habit. Don't be insulted. It wasn't my idea. Like I said, no one saw."

"That's not the point."

"I thought the point was you didn't want people to think I cheated."

"Just forget it."

"Hermione,"

"Forget it" she rolled back over.

"You're such a woman," he grumbled. Bad idea.

"What?" she growled dangerously.

"How can I stop myself from doing the wrong thing if I don't know what I've done wrong?"

"Did you ever think," she asked through gritted teeth. "Did you ever think maybe the problem is that you don't even know what you did? Can't you see how insulting that is?"

"No I don't see it. If you wanted to be with someone I'd understand. People have needs, Hermione."

"Just don't speak to me."

"Suit yourself."

"I said don't speak."

They slept in silence. They woke in silence. They got ready in silence and ate an early breakfast without a single utterance at which Agnes and Felix exchanged worried glances. Not a word passed between them as they rode the train to Dover. By the end of lunch at the nice restaurant they had saved their wages for, Draco was tired of pretending to enjoy this new found silence. "Could we perhaps try to enjoy our vacation?" he'd implored. "As much as I enjoy you not talking this is getting rather lonely and boring."

"What would you like me to say?" she crisply replied.

"Forget it," he sighed.

She caved over coffee. "Shall we go to the beach?"

"Let's," he smiled in relief.

It rained, naturally. And they strolled in the drizzle, looking at each others' pleasantly unfamiliar faces, as the storm clouds gathered majestically across the horizon. After a long walk the luster of being somewhere new with someone you could pretend was new wore off. The wind picked up and they sought refuge under a wooden shelter built over a bench. There they sat for a moment, each taking a gulp from their thermoses to maintain their guises. She saw Draco's gaze linger on her and returned it with a questioning glance.

"Agnes's daughter was beautiful," he commented flatly. Her stomach felt like it had filled with ice water. Was that supposed to be a compliment; you look nice when you look like someone else?

"That made you cry?" he asked, sounding astounded.

"I'm not crying." She protested.

"What's wrong?" She did not respond. She couldn't. For some reason she was going to cry. "I'll be back," He sighed. "Wait here."

He walked back and left her there alone to watch the storm gather. Some vacation. The sky grew black and the air cold. The sand was whipped about her, stinging her eyes and skin. Her dress was speckled with rain despite the shelter when Draco returned. "What are you doing?" he asked as if she were out of her mind for still sitting there.

"Watching the rain," she replied simply. He looked taken aback. Maybe he'd forgotten how much he liked the rain. Maybe, she realized, he'd forgotten how to be Draco. He sat down beside her and watched the lightening strike the cliffs of Dover, his eyes mirroring the tumultuous sea laid out before them, and they allowed themselves to be soaked to the bone until they trembled. They allowed their identities to return, though they were far from out of polyjuice potion that Hermione had had the foresight to have been preparing in the kitchen since their arrival. They lost their personas in the darkness and when they were alone and themselves again she chanced a look at him. He looked like himself, only more so than before. He looked like a live Draco, more alive than he had been since they left the catacombs. He looked at her too, the wind blowing her hair and his wildly, her features, like his, illuminated by violent strikes of lightening on the water. She wondered if it was only her that felt the current of electricity hovering the air between them, if it was only her that watched his clothes stick to his body in the rain. The silence was comfortable that time, shared and easy.

She wasn't sure how long they were there, maybe hours. They looked bedraggled and their stomachs growled by the time they decided to run back into town. They raced away from shore, getting soaked but enjoying the feeling of the cold rain saturating their cloths and sticking to their bodies. They shivered, their teeth chattered. Draco led her to a house on the water, a bed and breakfast where he had already had apparently already gotten a room as he produced a key. With an urgent glance around to see if they could be spotted in the lightening, he opened the door to a small, charming room with a single bed and fireplace. Panting with fear, excitement, and exertion, they locked themselves inside. The room was simple, from what she could see in the dark, and flowery. Not that it mattered. Surprising her, Draco lit, by hand, a fire in the hearth and some candles on the table. Food had been brought it to the quaint table by the fireplace. They sat there and ate with a hurry and a tension, though not the anger that had settled so unpleasantly there before. Still what had not been said lingered in the air between them and she felt she had to say it. It had to be out in the open. Maybe he was right. Maybe it wasn't fair for her to be angry without him being able to fix it. Maybe she just finally had the courage to find out the truth or maybe her curiosity just took over. It took two glasses of wine to get her there she was ashamed to say, but finally she pushed the word from her.

"Tell me truthfully, am I that awful?"

"What?" he asked, pouring them both another glass of wine.

"You lie next to me in bed every night for months and never try anything. You were so desperate you let a tramp, muggle, waitress that smelled like fags kiss you and you wouldn't even think of being with me." It was a declaration.

"That's what it was?" his voice had gotten deeper, or scratchier. Maybe it was the wine. Maybe she'd had enough. It looked like he was leaning in. "I thought you would never allow it. And I didn't want to make a mistake like that."

"What sort of mistake would I be?"

"That's not what I meant."

"What did you mean?"

"You're not the sort of girl I could just mess around with and then go back to the way things were. You couldn't handle it."

"Couldn't handle it?"

"You're not the sort of girl who turns off emotions and has meaningless sex."

"Oh." She understood, or at least she thought she did. Was he saying that it would be impossible to live with her after that because of what it would do to her? It wasn't a totally selfless thought of course but it still took her off guard. Why was it she was continually surprised whenever he did anything decent or brave? He looked disappointed, but he was in candlelight and perhaps it was just that.

"Everybody has needs." She echoed his earlier sentiment, only half-heartedly, drinking more wine. He had stopped her then, held her wrist, and the next thing she knew there they were: she was sitting on the desk, her dress she'd splurged on for today slid halfway up her thigh, her lips on his ear.

She opened her eyes again and saw Draco watching her expectantly, bracing himself. Could she reject him now? Did she even want to? Could she handle this?

"Yes." She said aloud answering her own question and his.

**A/N: **_Let me know what you are thinking and I'll let you know what Draco's thinking!_


	37. Powder Blue and Garnet

Powder Blue and Garnet

He had not asked anything, at least nothing aloud, yet she had said yes. It did not sound as if she were trying to be seductive. It wasn't a sigh or a moan; it was assertive. It was as if she was arguing with herself, wrestling with the decision and she had decided she wanted this. She wanted it.

He let go of both Sean and of Draco. No longer was he some commoner nor was he some spoiled heir. He was whoever she needed him to be and whatever she wanted to call him. Identity was inconsequential and he was having trouble remembering what wasn't in comparison to her warm body in that unzipped dress, her hair falling on pale, bare shoulders, and those soft, smooth legs in heels stretched around him. Her scent and her heat pressing against him, her lips, her hands… He picked her up, and, gently and steadily as he could, moved in as little time and space as was possible to the bed where he carefully set her down. Success.

Leaning over her, he removed her heels and pulled her legs to his bent shoulders. She scooted back against the pillows as he lowered himself on top of her holding his weight on his elbows comfortably. He looked down at her resting softly on the pillow, the straps of her dress falling off, her face flushed and looking very pretty. Her hair glimmered slightly in the dim light of from the candles still lit on the table, abandoned with what was left of their food. The locks adorning the pillow were golden, he realized, like a halo around her head. Her brown eyes were even darker than usual, her lips swollen and wet, her mouth slightly open, waiting. Her body was on fire beneath him. Her hands ran again through his hair, nails scrapping slightly, and, unable to hold himself back, he dove in for her mouth. He had almost forgotten how pleasant kissing could be.

This moment was perfect. She was lying beautiful, half clothed, and willing underneath him. He was handsome, young, and strong. They were all each other had in the world; it was Valentine's Day, Dover beach. The room was lit by fire and candlelight. A storm was brewing on the open sea outside. Their mouths were stained with red wine, their wet clothes clinging to their youthful forms. Why then did such a thought pop in his head? Why did something so absurd choose this moment- this perfect moment- to invade?

He forced himself to close his eyes and thought hard: what color was her dress? Small, warm hands rubbed suggestively up and down his naked chest. What color was it damnit? Pink? No, he was all but certain it wasn't pink. It was a darker color. Perhaps emerald? She did look nice in navy, but it was hard to remember black from navy when someone was kissing up and down your jaw line, along your neck, then sucking at the bottom of your ear. He squeezed the pillow very tightly. As she moved underneath him, he sucked in air sharply.

'Think Draco think!'

'No forget it,' he told himself, 'What are you doing trying to remember her dress when she doing this to you? Who cares what color it is? You freak, open your eyes and rip the stupid dress off!'

That voice seemed practical.

But even as he continued his work, his mind trailed away to the day before. After their fight when he had to make her excuses he was in a foul mood. Dinner was awkward without her presence. Felix and Agnes talked more, it seemed, to make up for her absence and his unusual silence. It did no good. How could she be so immature as to shut herself up in a room all day? It wasn't like Hermione at all; rather it was like some silly girl. What on earth could have gotten to her so he did not know. He worried though, brooded even. Was she being this impossible on purpose, or had she finally snapped? The fear so clear in her shining, wet eyes as she had struggled with the window earlier haunted him that evening. She had been so panicked, like an animal caught in a trap. It seemed so weird to think of her afraid, and over a window… He dearly hoped she was not going mad, because, to be honest, he knew he'd never be able to survive on the run alone or return her to the Order half out of her wits. He concluded that her strange mood must be a "feminine thing". Being angry with her seemed a more pleasant alternative to his companion having a mental breakdown.

This he had been pondering as he did their laundry for the following day, assisted by Agnes. Hermione usually did this, he frowned. Why should she be excused from all her work that now fell to him? Now, he had to wash their clothes and pack if they were to still go on vacation tomorrow. And after all their preparations- the clothes they had bought, the polyjuice potion and hair, the hotel he had booked not far from the water- it was surely going to be a poor vacation if her company was to be consistently thus. He huffed. It was not the Alps, the Carpathians, Morocco, Paris or Greece. He'd been to more exotic places than Dover and stayed in finer, enchanted hotels that would have made Hermione gasp. But something was so inviting about the bed and breakfast cottage they'd reserved. This vacation he was more excited about than any other. Hermione would say it was because he'd earned it.

'Enough about her' he thought with a snarl. He so looked forward to wearing fine clothes again, even if they were muggle. He craved the fresh air. They must go tomorrow.

He must have been frowning darkly, for Agnes began to shyly inquire as to what their fight had been about (trying to offer advice no doubt). His stomach flipped as it always did when he had to conjure a lie quickly for without a real reason he had to make up an argument. What did happy couples argue about?

"She asked me what she was wearing at our engagement party and I'm afraid I got it horribly wrong so she thinks I don't love her, not like Felix loves you anyway. It's not so of course, but she thought it was awfully romantic they way he described it the other night. I've never been very good at colors," he added apologetically, though it wasn't any more factual the fabricated argument.

"Don't feel bad, love. She won't be angry for long," she consoled, patting his shoulder affectionately. He tried to look hopeful and dubious at the same time but was afraid it may have more resembled an expression that said: I've just inhaled detergent. "And it wasn't yellow," she added with a wink.

"What?"

"The dress I wore that night was not yellow, it was a powder blue. Girls always remember what they wore when they met handsome men."

"But," there was a baffled pause, "He got it _wrong_?" Draco shook his head in disbelief.

"Yes, but it hardly mattered that the dress was blue not yellow and that my hair was up in pins. I was wearing jasmine you know." She smiled wistfully.

"Two out three good enough eh?" He nodded, pouring detergent in the washing machine and assuming he understood.

"No!" she was quick to correct in surprised tones. "It was the yellow dress I wore when he proposed to me and, see, he did always love my hair in curls. The lavender was my only perfume that year because I had spent all my money on that one bottle of fancy stuff." She laughed. "It wasn't that his memories were mismatched and smeared together, it was the way he saw me in his mind. To him, I was always that young girl with the curls he loved, in his favorite yellow dress, smelling like jasmine."

Draco just stared at her as if she'd said something in French and he was trying to translate it.

"It was the way he said it," she sighed. "Did you hear it in his voice?" Then, finally understanding, he nodded and grinned to himself over the washer lid.

His eyes flew open, but the pitch black room told him nothing of the color of the dress dangling off the foot of the bed. It did however tell him that his belt had been removed. As smoothly and he could, dotting her skin with kisses here and there, he slid the dress the rest of the way off her slim, perfectly shaped figure and laid it at the foot of the bed. The light from the window revealed nothing except that it was indeed a dark shade of something.

She pulled him back from his hesitation and he pulled the quilt over their heads. Their kisses intensified, if such a thing were possible, until it was quite warm under the blanket. Quite warm indeed. As he attacked her collar bone with his tongue until he could resist it no longer. He must be rid of this annoying question. He whispered, hearing his own voice deepen, "Hermione?"

"Yes?" She all but moaned and his throat constricted as he fought for control of both his body and his mind.

'Don't do it!' part of him screamed.

"What color is your dress?" He asked between kisses.

"What?" Even as distracted as she was her voice was confused.

"What color is the dress you wore this evening?"

"Why?"

"What color?" he whispered in her ear. He knew how to get what he wanted. She shivered. Navy he was almost positive now. It had to be navy. It must be.

"Garnet," she replied in a half gasp leaning her head back seductively. He froze. She immediately responded to his rigid pose.

"What? Why does it matter?"

That stopped him. Why did it matter? Hadn't Agnes said it hadn't mattered at all? What was he getting at anyway? If he could remember her dress then he loved her enough to sleep with her? Since when did he have to love someone to sleep with them anyway? She was more than willing to go at and she didn't love him. He hated it, hated it with a passion he'd never known but he had to admit that somehow something about this felt terribly wrong. Maybe it was because it was Granger. Would she be insulted if he said he didn't want to this? He was willing to bet. After all, who wouldn't be? Would he care?

His answer shocked even himself. Yes. He jumped a little at that. Then he looked at her, very carefully, as if he were seeing her for the first or last time. He took in the eyes. They looked so innocent and warm. How could someone so knowing have such innocent eyes? He examined that friendly smile, the honest one she couldn't t give without meaning it. It was sly too, like she was pleased with her own cleverness. Then came the bashful one. Her hair was like…a bee hive all golden and brown and wild with waves. It was almost waxy too and it smelled sweet. Dark but shiny it fell onto her skin so white, so warm, cheeks flushed, lips red and puckered. And below that…

"What?" she asked. He was staring like an idiot. How had he never seen this all before? He'd never seen her naked, he supposed. That must be it. Who knew such a thing could hide under her bookish, frizzy exterior?

'You look beautiful' he wanted to say, but it wounded stupid even to him. Instead, he closed his eyes and recalled every facet of her face just as he had seen it a second ago. He did not open them until he could picture it, every inch, and then he smiled to himself. This would do.

"Draco,"

"Yes?"

"Why does it matter?"

Because I love you," he mumbled, hoping that would suffice for the time. He thought it odd how that phrase often leapt to his lips in the heat of the moment, but it seemed to fit and the time and was usually met with tremendous response. Still, he had said it the first time without even thinking it and not realized until after. It had made him bark with laughter at its outlandish and sudden appearance. Then, it had happened again. The only time he said such things to Pansy was when he made love to her, a fact that had roused her curiosity on more than one occasion. She was happy though to leave well enough alone. Granger would not be so compliant.

"What?" she asked in her true voice.

"I love you." He tried again, kissing her hair. He did not expect her to say it back, but he most definitely did not expect what happened next. She slapped him hard across the face.

"You bastard!" she practically spit all over him.

"What?" He was too surprised this time for the bubble of hate to boil to the surface. He just allowed himself to be thrown off her, blinking dumbly as she tore herself from the bed like he was contagious and grabbed her dress. It was cold. She pulled it on angrily. Even in the darkness he could see her face red with fury. She trembled as she dressed, slipping the fabric over her skin and hiding it from his sight, fabric he could now see was garnet. A lovely shade. He knew it would only infuriate her further, but he had to know.

"Mind elaborating?" he asked.

"I-I, you!"She stammered too angry even to speak, which was a first.

"Why don't you sit down?" He suggested calmly. She glared in response and did not accept his invitation, but instead began to pace rapidly to and fro. He sat up and clutched his head, suddenly feeling very tired.

"How dare you? You pathetic bastard! I am not one of your, your whores or your pitiful little dotting girlfriends who need to hear some false assurance to have sex with you. You're not fooling me; this isn't some game of quidditch where you just scored a goal. I don't need you to love me anymore than I am stupid enough to believe you do. I'm not some weak-minded woman who needs to be talked into doing something mature. Don't you dare disrespect me like that! The very least you could have done was keep your mouth shut."

And then she began to speak more to herself than to anyone else. "Well maybe it's best you did. Merlin knows what we would have done if you hadn't brought me to my senses! What was I thinking? How could I be so, so hormonal and foolish? I am being a silly girl. Thank the gods we stopped when we did. We have things to do, things to think about, and I'm thinking about-"

"I lost my virginity when I was fourteen," Well however he had planned on saving the moment that was not it. That had to be the least seductive thing he'd ever heard anyone say. Who the hell talked about this sort of thing at a time like this? And to a girl he was trying to seduce no less? No, seduce was not the right word. She was right; there was no seducing Hermione Granger. There could only be honesty and utter straightforwardness.

"What?" she asked, and he was pleased with himself to see her tone had changed. Not only was she taken of guard, but she had softened, naturally sensitive to others feelings and to their needs. Only this time he wasn't trying to take advantage of that. Having her here like this, and knowing full well how to have her, gave him this sensational feeling of power more so than any he had experienced through his practice of the Dark Arts. He vaguely wondered if the Dark Lord himself had ever even felt this sort of power. Perhaps this was what it felt like to hold someone's life in your hands.

She was completely vulnerable to him and trusted him completely. She was quite a thing to conquer too and for a moment he considered launching himself upon her and searching out every spot that would make her body turn against her, whispering in her ear how very logical it was that they should do this, that he needed it so badly. He thought of maybe even begging as that smug smirk would make its way across his face safely hidden in her hair. He thought of taking her right then, triumphantly having tricked and had the cleverest witch he'd ever met, being forever superior to her in her mind and his.

Then, quite unbidden, another picture of himself entered his head. One of him holding this power in his hands, both of them knowing he could now move the pieces into to place and get what he wanted, and choosing to spare her. He saw himself become a protector, standing sort of gleamingly and unusually tall. It wasn't the way he often imagined himself. It both frightened and delighted him.

"On the night of the Yule Ball," he went on. "When I saw you I was, well, I was amazed and it infuriated me. I was so livid with you, with myself, with Krum, with Weasley, and with Potter that I had to leave the ball. Pansy didn't even mind and that's when I knew that she'd do anything for me. She'd even have sex with me and it even would be easy. If she'd leave the ball for me, then all I had to do was offer myself to her and she'd take it. So I did. And she had me. And I pictured you.

"I hated you for it later all the more than I ever had, but I never forgot the way you looked that night. You wore a pink dress." He added as an afterthought, startling himself with the detail inclusion. He had remembered that dress. He understood now. He remembered that dress because it was the one that had mattered. No, the dress had not mattered. That night had mattered. Finally he understood what Agnes was trying to convey. That was the way he'd seen her since he saw her that night. That was the way he pictured her: in that wonderful pink dress.

"But you don't love me." She yanked him from his thoughts.

"I want you."

"But you don't love me. Say it."

"Hermione, I want you. I have dreamed of having you for three years. I did not seduce you with magic like my father suggested, rape you as Lord Voldemort wanted, or use you in my boredom and loneliness these past few weeks we've shared a bed. I didn't want to hurt you, I couldn't disrespect you, and for some reason I wanted you to want me to, like you did tonight. I wanted it to be like this."

"Me too." That was it. She wanted him.

He stepped forward, wondering if it was alright. She did not hit him or run away screaming so he took another timid step forward and she nearly made him jump out of his skin by all but pouncing on him. Her lips attacked his mouth. Her arms wrapped around him, one hand snaking its way into his hair and grabbing it. Her leg slid up his, wrapped around his hip.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. I'm sorry." She was. Her sincerity perplexed and pleased him.

"It's alright. Have you ever done this before?"

"No."

"It's okay."

"I know." He hitched her leg up higher, lifted her off her feet and wrapped his arms around her body, holding her tightly as he backed onto the bed. She was straddling him when he sat down slowly. A hand on the small of her back, he flipped her carefully over in one move. She seemed to like this. Then without warning she stiffened and gasped as if in pain. He lifted himself from her just as she burst "Oh Bloody HELL!"

"What? What is it?" he asked in frantic tones. He hadn't done anything yet. How could she be in pain?

"Draco look!" Outside the window above the desk from where they had moved, an eerie figure traced its way across the blackened sky. Even through the torrents of rain it was visible: a brilliant green, an opened-mouthed skull, a serpent extended from it like a tongue. His blood felt cold inside him. Underneath him Hermione took shallow, frightened breaths and trembled, eyes wide in horror he imagined mirrored his. They spoke in whispers as if it mattered.

"How long has it been there?"

"I don't know. Can't have been long or else they would be here already, wouldn't they?"

"How could they have found us?" He was already up and dressing in clothes that would be easiest to move in, following her lead silently. The rest of their things she tossed in the fire. Her hands trembled but her voice was steady as she replied "We used magic, remember? At the restaurant, in the kitchen? They must have traced our magic to Felix and Agnes' flat, then tracked us here."

"Then Felix and Agnes?"

"I don't know but we should go to them."

"No, it's not safe."

"Draco we have to leave now. Where else do we go?"

"I don't know can't we just think of something first?" he hissed.

"There isn't time," she said, looking fearfully out the window at the dark mark. "They're here."

Draco took her by the arm firmly and concentrated with all his might. He pictured the alley way in which that girl Stacey had kissed him, the alley way he had grown to know so well. He pictured the window into the kitchen right above the sink, but did not picture the kitchen. And then, pulling her with him, he willed himself there with every fiber of his being.

He heard the pop as they landed in the alleyway and somehow still felt very constricted.

"No one is up there," Hermione told him as he opened his eyes. "Come on."

She led him by the hand in the kitchen with their key and up the stairs quietly despite her affirmation. The door was open.

The small kitchen, usually so neat and orderly, was in disarray. The cabinets emptied with what could only have been a spell, the food littering the linoleum floor. The table had a broken leg and one of the chairs was overturned. There was no sound or movement. There was no blood.

There was no need to search the house to know what had happened. Long before they steeled themselves and entered the den, they knew what they would find. Hermione had performed a spell to see how many people were inside the flat and she had said no one was there. No one. Indeed, there on the floor of the den where they had danced but a week ago laid the bodies of their benefactors. Agnes was faced down, hair pulled about and Felix faced up, staring widely at the ceiling as if imploring it for justice. Draco whipped around in time to be sick in the sink. Through his retching he could her Hermione's sobs.

"They'll be coming back soon." He croaked through a dry throat when he was done.

"Yes," she agreed, steeling herself in a way that nearly moved him to tears.

"We've got to leave then, don't we?" he managed.

"Yes, immediately."

"Take what you can," she commanded in a matter-of-fact fashion as she wiped her eyes.

"What?" his stomach fell further.

"Pack food, clothes, money, whatever you can. We don't know where we're going. We'll need it."

"Steal from the dead?"

"They would want us to have and you know it." She snapped with more fervor than was necessary. Her defensiveness showed she felt more guilt in it than she'd like to let on, but he knew how badly they needed it, and it was going to waste. Still, it sounded more like something he would say.

"The spell," he said as it dawned.

"What?"

"I used a spell to heal your finger not a day ago. They tracked the magic through the ministry, which means,"

"They'll be at the hotel soon and then they'll come back here if they continue to track us."

"And they'll be no more magic after this."

She nodded sadly.

"Good thing I had plenty of practice playing muggle."

"Hurry," she urged wading through the mess of food strewn about the flat. They scrambled to collect what they could. She got a box of poptarts, a can of applesauce, a granola bars, some bread and a few potatoes. He got the blankets and clothes.

"Would you take their hair?" she asked retrieving her polyjuice potion from under the sink.

"What? Why me?" His heart leapt at just the thought of it.

"Please?"

"Yes. I will." He answered, wondering why he'd agreed. It was the least he could do, he figured. His spell had been the one that had killed them in a manner. Leaning over Agnes's body was easiest. Her eyes were closed. He cut the hair from her head gently though his sense told him she would feel nothing. He could not bring himself to be rough with such a gentle creature. He tired to forget it was her, to tell himself she was out. Felix looked up at him urgently, as if trying to tell him something. As quickly as he could and pointedly avoiding his eyes, Draco took his hair as well and hid it in a plastic bag with Agnes'. His hands trembled because Felix looked so alive Draco feared that, as foolish as I sounded, he would leap up when he took his hair. He did not leap. Then, turning his face from him, Draco closed his eyelids with his fingers.

He waited in the kitchen for Hermione, trying not to vomit again. She emerged from their rooms with money which she hurriedly stuffed into a purse.

"Hair, polyjuice potion, wands, blankets, soap, food, money. Good." She went over things as if reciting a checklist before a planned outing. Again, he marveled at her composure.

"Let's go," he all but whined. "Let's go now."

"Can you apparate again?"

"I think so."

"We'll both try it."

"Where to?"

"The Forbidden Forrest."


	38. Whispers in the Wood

_Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter._

**_Stolen_**

**Whispers in the Wood**

They made it to their destination and the moment they registered it ran blindly and wildly away. Wands remained at the ready, as they were well aware that they may at any minute come across any manner of dark creature. It must have been a kilometer at least they ran, covering up their tracks, creating false paths, and setting up blocks behind them. They went deep into the forest together, never daring to separate until their legs could not move further, their sides were splitting, and their lungs burned.

Under a fallen tree they dove and cast protection spells through heavy pants. There they rested for some time, half expecting a battle to ensue, but it became clear that they were alone in their specific corner of the woods for the time being. When they could both breathe once more, Draco spoke first.

"It was my fault." His sincerity surprised her.

"Don't be ridiculous. It was only a matter of time before they traced us there," she comforted him, then berated herself "We should never have stayed so long." Her face was already red or he would have noticed her bright flush of shame.

"Why did we stay there?" he now forced himself to ask.

"I needed time to think." She admitted, feeling the sick heat of shame spread throughout her entire body. She was surprised it was not leaving blisters. How could she be so foolish? They were asking for trouble lingering there that long, even Draco could see it. They had put them in danger even after all they had done. Then she had stolen from them. Even Draco had been shocked by this. She resentfully wished he'd stop being so decent so she wouldn't feel like a monster. Wasn't it supposed to be the other way around, or was it? She couldn't remember at the moment.

"That's what this was?" he only just held back his outrage. "Time for you to think? Well let's hear it then: your brilliant plan to save us all."

"Don't make fun of me now!" she snapped, unsure whether she wanted to curse him for being so wretched of weep because she was so wretched.

"I'm not joking," he let out a breathless, humorless laugh. "You better have come up with something really good in the past month." Yes, he was definitely bitter, she quickly gathered. And why wouldn't he be? Whatever he might claim Draco had loved the old couple.

"It was for you as well," even to her she sounded as if she were trying to justify her actions, her careless actions. "To get things sorted out in your mind, to grieve, away from everything. I knew it was temporary. I supposed we should have left weeks ago. I wasn't really planning for this. I don't know what to do right now."

"Tell me you're joking. If you weren't figuring escape plans what have you been mulling over for a bloody month!"

"I was sorting things out in my head, going over evidence…" He did not let her explain. He was working his way toward hysterics.

"Great, so where do we go? We can't camp out in the woods forever. Why don't we go to Snape? He'll help us."

She shook her head. "He can't have any memory of us alive that the Dark Lord might see. It's very hard to hide people's existence. It's too risky. We can't ask him to endanger us all like that."

"So it's the Order then?" He sighed resignedly.

"No. Not yet. We're not ready; they're not ready yet."

"Ready for what?" he was perplexed.

"Ready to know, to do what needs to be done…" She was baiting him and she knew it. She imagined he did too but he was too taken aback to protest.

"What needs to be done?" He was frustrated with her; his inflection on the word 'what' made it dreadfully obvious. She could understand that. After all, she knew better than anyone what it was like to be out of the loop. So this was it then. She took a steadying breath. It was now or never.

She turned to him: "I want to tell you something Draco, something I was trusted to tell no one but my closest friends in the direst need. You've learnt by now that knowledge can be a very powerful thing and a very dangerous one. This is both. Once you know this there is no going back. There won't be any changing your mind after this. So, if you want to know, make sure you know whose side you are on first."

"I'm not turning back if that's what you're wondering," he snapped. "I've got nowhere to turn to anyway."

"If the Dark Lord ever glimpses this knowledge in your mind you are dead." She looked at him seriously, dead in the eyes.

"I'm dead anyway if he sees me," He responded flatly. He was right of course. She'd kidnapped him and this has left him with no other option. Be that as it may, this was nothing to be taken lightly. She must impress upon him the seriousness of the situation.

"You are one of only five living people who know this. That is you, Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley, I, and Tom Riddle."

"Get on with it then!" he shifted his position impatiently.

"Voldemort has mentioned to you no doubt that he has taken greater steps towards immorality than any man before him."

"Yes." He was apprehensive, but his eyes grew wide with hunger for that knowledge that repulsed her a little bit.

"This is no bluff. He has done something so terrible, so heinous most consider it unspeakable and it has indeed secured for him a sort of immunity from death."

"Is this supposed to be in anyway uplifting? Because I've got to tell you that's the worst thing I've heard in a while and that is really saying something."

"He has performed an act of dark magic and made what is called a horcrux. Have you heard of such a thing?"

"No."

"I had not either until Dumbledore told Harry and Harry told me. In the whole of Hogwarts library, including the restricted section, there is only one book with one mention of a horcrux and it provides no explanation of what it is or how to create one."

"You would know. So then what the devil is it?"

"It's a piece of one's soul."

"A piece? How do you get a piece of someone's soul?"

"He tears his own in two."

"So, as he is now, he only has part of a soul?"

"Yes."

"That explains so much," he said with sad eyes, frightened eyes, she could not easily read. His next question she did not expect. "But why would someone do that?"

"So long as their soul is hidden in an object outside their body, destroying that body cannot destroy all of the person. They can be regenerated, like he was in our fourth year."

"That's how he survived the killing curse when it backfired. He had made a Horcrux."

"Yes."

"I just thought he was so powerful. But then Potter… was just a baby. He must be powerful. It makes sense now why you-"

"I do not side with Harry because he's powerful. He's young. He hasn't had time to learn to harness that power yet."

"Why doesn't Potter make a horcux too? Then at least they'd be equals. Why doesn't everyone do it?"

"It comes at a terrible cost. First, you must live without an intact soul. The pain of that I cannot imagine, but I've seen the sort of monster it can turn you into, as have you. Second, to create a horcrux you must take another human life. Worse yet, an innocent life."

"So what if it means he can defeat the Dark Lord? Potter's got a hundred people who'd beg to be the one to die for him."

"But Harry would never allow it!"

"I know," he grumbled. "Pity."

"Have you learned nothing from me?"

"At least I'm rooting for him to win. Isn't that enough progress for now? Just because I'm willing to take steps to-"

She cut him off "To become another form of exactly what we're fighting. Then what would we be fighting for?"

Silence.

"Is this the key you spoke of? This is what you tried to tell me the night we…There's a way to destroy this horcurxes and then make him mortal so Potter can kill him?"

"Well done. Yes, and we've already begun to track them down."

"Them?"

"Horcuxes were not invented by Voldemort but he did take it farther than anyone else. He split his soul, we believe, seven times- seven being the most powerful number- and hid them inside objects of particular significance where he believed they would be safe."

"What are these objects? How do we find one? How do we destroy it?"

"We know what several of them are and I think I've sort of figured out the rest in the past month and half. First of all was Tom Riddle's Diary, the one your family gave to Ginny Weasley second year."

Draco winced. "Father was punished very hard for the loss of that item. No wonder now…so that's one down right?" She smiled at this. He was on their side even it was the only side to be on.

"That's right! And Dumbldore destroyed his family ring."

"That's two."

"There was a locket that belonged to Salazar Slytherin. The night he died, Dumbledore had been with Harry retrieving it, but it had already been destroyed by Regalus Black."

"Regalus Black? Sirius's Black's Death Eater brother?"

"The same," It felt great letting the secret out, like hot air was streaming out of her.

"Incredible," he breathed and shook his head in disbelief. "We were always told his disobeyed an Order of the Dark Lord. That's three."

"The forth we know is Hufflepuff's goblet. We haven't located it yet. We think that Voldemort used an item belonging to each founder based on his love of Hogwarts, interest in history, and the trend we noticed with Slytherin's locket and Hufflepuff's cup."

"That means there would be something of Ravenclaw and Gryffindor as well."

"Yes, that's my opinion anyway."

"Makes sense, but what are they? And what could the seventh one be?"

"Well, I've given that a lot of thought and I think I've figured it out. You gave me the idea actually. Without my stay at Malfoy manor I would never have guessed. It's why I had to get you to trust me, to tell me about your heritage. I knew Voldemort was often around you and I thought he may be trying to keep an eye on something. He has a fascination with pureblood heritage and yours is certainly something he'd have latched onto as a child."

A knowingly look came over his face "What?" she prompted, hoping he'd caught on.

"That's how my father was sucked in. He was proud and ambitious and Voldemort prayed on that." The disdain was more evident that ever in voice. They were united in their hatred of that one, wicked man if nothing else. "Voldemort did love his history. He told us all about our heritage; he respected it, and took interest. He revived our connection with our past, emphasized our loyalty to it. But he was just using it. He only had us value our ties so he could use that loyalty to his own advantage."

"Didn't you see how angry he was about the book, how protective?" She felt a strange thrill, he was getting it, really getting it.

"Yes! It made sense at the time because it was so important to us, but now I see. And the book didn't burn when I threw it into the fire remember? It was only singed."

"That's why he kept the Death Eaters and your cousins at your home. It wasn't a honor of hosting, they were all guarding it. That's why I stayed even when I sensed danger. I needed to know, even if it meant dying for the order. I had to get the final horcrux."

"And did you?"

"No. I- I failed."

"What a coincidence," he said bitterly, "So did I and we're both alive because of it, for now anyway. So now what?"

"Now we have no choice but to return to Malfoy Manor and get the book."

"Are you totally mad?" He stood, looking rather mad himself, and hitting his head hard on the horizontal trunk of the tree. "Even if we could get in we would never get out."

"You know that place better than anyone."

"Yes I know it well enough to know there's no leaving if you're unwelcome, little Malfoy family tradition. Everything in that garden will stop you." She remembered the dogs, trained to chase those who fled, the wild unicorn, the eagle, and the bear. She shuddered. "And like I said, even if we could get in we'd have to avoid being caught by the bloody angels of justice and lovely Aunt Bella and mad old dad and the whole gay crew. Plus probably vampires and werewolves and whatever else The Dark Lord has guarding his soul. Aunt Bella's crumps will sniff you out the minute we arrive…"

"It's our only option. Without that book we shall never be able to help Harry defeat him." He growled at her, stepping out from under their cover to pace. "No one will!"

"What about the others?" he pulled for straws. "Gryffindor and Ravenclaw's artifacts and theHufflepuff goblet? Why don't we go after them first?"

"It's considerably harder to locate something when you don't know what you're looking for."

"You must have some idea."

"Well, I believe I know where the cup may be, Ravenclaw's item may be there as well, but I doubt he would place two together."

"Go on."

"It seemed silly to me for him to have a secret room of Slytherin's inside the safest magical building and not place one there."

"The Chamber of Secrets? But wouldn't that mean Voldemort would have had to come back to Hogwarts after he'd gotten those items?"

"Yes, and he did on one occasion to ask Dumbldore for a teaching position. He was turned down. If he then went to the Chamber we may find one there as I suspect. Maybe the job application was only an excuse to return to the castle,"

"And therefore the Chamber to hide his newest life insurance," Draco finished for her.

"But Harry's the only person who can get in there save Voldemort himself because they must speak Parlsetongue."

"What about the other one?"

"I've had several thoughts. Gringotts though I doubt he had much confidence there in security since he broke in years ago. I doubt it was his first time. Then there's the Room of Requirement, but I don't know how we'd get to it since it seems you can't get in to someone else's room unless you knew what they required."

"The Room of Requirement is where I hid the Vanishing Cabinet last year in a room that appeared when I needed somewhere to hide something. Countless things were hid in there. It would take a while, but maybe we could find it in there."

"It will take a long time to search but we should start there." She agreed with a nod.

"Which just leaves one more item and place,"

"I suspect I know what Gryffindor's may be."

"What?"

"Are you familiar with the prophecy Voldemort sought from the ministry in fifth year?"

"I know it was what led him to attack Harry Potter, that his mission was a secret one, and that Snape was the one who told him about it."

"Well when Voldemort heard that there was one who would be able to destroy him he was smarter than your average person. He knew that the most intelligent thing to do to stop that from ever happening was to make his enemy a horcrux. What you may not have known is that the prophecy didn't state Harry specifically. It says someone born in July whose parents had defied him three times. There were two boys who met that bill-Harry Potter and Neville Longbottom."

"Longbottom?" Clearly, this part was new to him.

"You notice he did not choose the pureblood. For a while this lapse in his pureblood passion baffled me, until I looked deeper into a rumor about Harry's ancestry. The Potter's descended from Gryffindor."

"Harry is the Gryffindor item, two modes of power in one horcrux."

"I can't be sure but evidence that Harry is a Horcrux is great. There's the mental bond they share for starters, Harry could see into Voldemort's mind fifth year and when Voldemort learned of this link he took advantage of it, planting false memories in his head. In Harry's memory Voldemort told his mother she didn't need to die, only one death was necessary. And Harry has the scar, a mark that matches exactly the cracks on the other Horcruxes."

"But if Ha-Potter, is the Gryffindor Horcurx which means we've got to kill him to destroy the Horcrux."

"Yes, but we also need him to destroy the others."

"So where to now?"

She thought very hard on the problem, turning over each angle in her mind. She spun the wheels of her mind wildly but all they did was spin like a hamster wheel and seem to screech "I don't know! I don't know!" Her eyes grew heavy with her labor and she let them rest a while, still keeping a sharp ear out for danger in the unusually quiet wood.

In her mind she flew over the treetops of the dark forest, she flew over the lake to the glittering lights of Hogwarts. Professor McGonogall stood in the doorway, smiling. Hermione felt herself glide pas McGongall and up the stairs to the Great Hall but in the Great Hall everything was lit for ceremony but no one was there. Not a soul. And she walked to the front of the hall where the sorting hat once sat. She lifted onto her head and it said Ravenclaw. "No I'm in Gryfindor. I'm brave," she pleaded. "I'm brave. I'm brave."

"Hey lion hearted wake up." Draco nudged her. They had slept under the fallen tree throughout the night she judged by the stiffness of things.

"Got any breakfast in that bag?"

"Yes," she croaked in her groggy morning voice, making him snigger. From the bag she procured a box of poptarts which they devoured fairly quickly along with a thermos of milk. "That would soon go bad but the rest we need to save. We don't know how long we'll need it."

"Experience any eureka whist I was asleep?"

"I think I did while I was asleep."

"Good." He stood and stretched his body, no doubt as sore as she. "Where are we headed?"

She could not but resist the smile that tugged at her eyes and mouth. "Hogwarts."

"Though it's being run by Death Eaters."

"Well I wasn't planning on waltzing in the front door."

"What were you planning, just out of curiosity?"

"Sneaking."

"Now that's the Hermione I know." He clapped her on the back. It was truly amazing, she reflected, how daylight could change how one saw the world. "In search of Potter the Great I take it?"

"Neville Longbottom actually."

"Why?"

"We can't contact Harry or Ron just yet and I know I can trust Neville to help us and say nothing. Before we can hope to convince Harry we have got to get the Casus Malfoy horcrux from Malfoy Manor,"

"Thereby by proving my loyalty to our most noble cause," he gave a little bow.

She laughed incredulously and shook her head, marveling at his good mood.

"And how do we plan to enter Malfoy Manor?"

"The Vanishing Cabinet and the D.A. will help us search the Room of Requirement for Hufflepuff's goblet or Ravenclaw's staff."

"Staff?"

"Yes, I've been going through Hogwarts, A History and Ravenclaw is always pictured with her staff. It has a raven's head with jeweled eyes and a raven's claw at the bottom."

"Then that just leaves Potter."

"Yes,"

"You're taking this whole killing him thing quite well."

"OH! Yes, I should explain. My plan is to let Voldemort kill Harry to give him a false sense of security and then portkey immediately to a muggle hospital."

"A muggle hospital?"

"Do you remember seeing C.P.R. on the telly?"

"So you want Harry resuscitated the moment he dies?"

"As soon as possible."

"But wasn't that just a theory? What if it doesn't actually work with the killing curse?"

"We're going to test if first of course."

"On whom?" His eyebrows flew up.

"Me."

A/N: Please, please, please review.


	39. Fairy Tales

Disclaimer: Please see previous chapters.

A/N: Thanks so much for the splendid reviews. In honor of the new movie with Draco finally playing a big role....here's another chapter for your enjoyment.

**Stolen**

Chapter 39: Fairy Tales

Draco had protested of course, but her resolve was unbreakable. Once Granger got an idea in her mind she was impossible to dissuade and so he resolved all the stronger to hatch his own secret plan which would spoil hers. For whatever confusion he had about his warped relationship with this muggle born girl, he had no delusions that he wanted to kill her. He may not know _what_ he wanted and had not presumed to imagine a future, but, if he dared allowed himself to picture anything, that picture definitely contained a very live Hermione Granger. Himself he could not be so certain about, and so he shied away from those thoughts in general.

Yes, he too was not incapable of constructing intricate plans, as she should have remembered. His quick abandoning of argument on the subject did seem to make her highly suspicious, but it also seemed to upset her as if the dumb girl actually entertained the notion he may want her dead. Well, he figured, if she were stupid enough to think that he would not bother to correct her. Besides, that would only result in a long, awkward conversation about feelings which would serve only to make their task ahead more complicated and cause them large amounts of pain in the future.

No, it was best to accept Hermione's plans, he had learned, with as little protest as possible and so they traveled to the town of Hogsmeade through the forest, a trek which took them the entire day in her manner. Her genius methods included backtracking, making false trails, and short run ins with a nest of giant spiders, some centaurs who spoke rather cryptically, and a young giant who, to Draco's great amusement, called Hermione 'Hermy'. There was no need to worry about the Nundus, she assured him. They had done their task and whoever they belonged to would have long since removed such prize hunters. Two plants attempted to kill them in addition to this, but they were handled with considerable ease and in making it to town before nightfall they avoided the other more menacing company the forest had to offer. Draco knew himself to be poor company during the ordeal as he absolutely loathed the forest since first year and especially loathed spending an entire day in it, dirty, cold, hungry, and incredibly sore from sleeping on its ground.

From Hogsmeade he was shocked to find her plan actually included breaking into the candy shop there which allowed them to buy a poor excuse for supper "just in case". A dusty, cramped passageway winded its way into Hogwarts and once inside the walls Hermione performed a spell she insisted would call a member of Dumbledore's blasted Army. So, at the entrance to what Hermione said was 'the hump of the statue of the one eyed witch', they waited until Draco's eyes would barely hold themselves open. He sat upon the floor, his back against the cool stone, and wrapped an arm around Hermione in what he hoped was an absentminded fashion. She was anxious and cold and her shivering was making him anxious and cold. His arm seemed to do the trick and they found themselves nodding off until the wall behind them abruptly slid open making them fall, then gasp and leap to their feet in quick succession. A badly scarred face stared at them only a moment before pushing its way into the passage with them and grabbing Hermione in a tight hug.

She wept in a dozen different kinds of relief. "Neville!"

"Hermione! Oh Hermione it's a miracle. Ron and the others will be so…so happy. We've all been so terribly upset about your death, just devastated, and yet here you are!" His eyes welled too and a drop spilled down his face on one side, running the length of a nasty scar. Draco had barely recognized Longbottom. Apparently Nundu's wound did not heal very well, he reflected, while noting in the dim wand light some marks on his neck which looked very different.

"No. They can't know Neville. Not yet." Hermione was quick to tell him.

He shook his head in a taken aback fashion, but remained pleased. "Well, alright if you say so Hermione. You must have something all worked out. Say, sorry it took so long. Had to steal this from Harry and get permission from Snape to leave the common room." He produced the infamous invisibility cloak and a scrap of parchment.

"Think we'll both fit under this?" she asked, taking it from him.

"Both?" And then his light fell upon Draco who did not even bother to produce his wand at Neville's sudden, aggressive shift in stance. "Draco?" he inquired with a sharpness mixed with incredulity.

"Longbottom," Draco inclined his head politely. The other young man looked flabberghasted but Draco did not give him the satisfaction of a proper explanation choosing instead to first cover himself with the cloak first and then wrap himself around Hermione without her consent. Protest would have been futile. If the close contact before her friend embarrassed her she did not show it.

He followed Neville's quick pace easily, all but carrying her slight weight. He well knew where they were headed, where they would be safe. The castle halls were black and silent. They passed by quickly and without much notice. The way was so familiar even now it was followed without thinking. Once they made it to the Room of Requirement Draco removed the cloak with a flourish, steadied Hermione, and stepped an arm's length away. Together, their thoughts furnished a comfortable room with an agreeable fire, some tea, and an assortment of soft furniture in minutes. They settled in with an air of surprisingly normalcy.

"I'm surprised to see you both." Neville said with a contented sigh and a disfigured grin as he plopped on the settee next to Hermione. Draco took the armchair at her side and a cup of tea.

"We're happy to see you too Neville." She practically beamed.

"Elated," Draco added dryly though he knew it was unnecessary and would make then both cast frowns in his direction. How wished for two things: to not be ignored and some sort of normalcy. This brought him both and he fell silent for a time, satisfied to let them talk as he stared into the fire. He let them babble on for a while until he feared the conversation may put him to sleep and then was struck with the most brilliant of ideas. He would feign sleep. Certainly the idea he had drifted off would not be hard to buy, indeed it would be a challenge not to do so while pretending, and his company was about the most naïve he could hope for.

"So have you continued the D.A.?" Hermione inquired with her voice lowered. He smirked internally knowing his plan had worked.

"I'm afraid not. We've maintained about half our number but we've not met to practice. Not that we've needed further instruction."

"What do you mean?"

"I'll explain in a minute. Here, you should eat."

"Thanks, Neville." She bit into something that had crisp outside, something that smelled delicious. Naturally he would have nodded off before the food. "Now what do you mean you don't need further training?"

There was a pause. "There have been a lot of changes at Hogwarts since you went away. We're not just a pureblood school anymore. It's not just education in magical arts, its training. We're like a magical military academy."

"Elaborate."

"Well on the outside its all looks the similar doesn't it? That's the plan? Sure, we still have houses, but first years don't get a house."

"What?"

"Nor are they allowed to touch a wand. They aren't spoken to by any upper level students. Membership in a group must be earned, as must acknowledgement, and the privilege to wield something so powerful and potentially dangerous as a wand. Not a terrible idea in and of itself, but that's not all. First years must learn the Care of Magical Creatures, Herbology, Potions, Astronomy, History of Magic, Magical Theory, Muggle Studies (where you learn how muggles are as useless and bestial as they are a threat to our well-being) and Divination. They take flying lessons and must attend all quidditch games and dueling club practices. Those events are practically the battle of the gladiators, truly grizzly affairs.

"Second year students have earned a house and can be spoken to, but do not yet have a wand. They continue these courses, along with physical conditioning for the rigorous training of their later years, and either Arithmacy, Alchemy, or Ancient Runes. First and second years wear all white at all times and have no castle privileges."

"And their parents think-?"

"Believe they are being trained for their own protection first from Death Eaters and then from Muggles, those that can ignore the harsh conditions and truth of the matter. Those who can't keep their mouths shut and their families safe."

"And the students?"

"The people we are dealing with know how to keep people from talking. One is to brainwash, two is to divide, three is to insight fear, and four is to keep them so busy with grueling days they don't have the energy to rebel. This method has proved most effective to us who try to combat their efforts."

"The D.A.?"

"Yes. Like the order on the outside we spend most of our time trying to find out as much as we can about the enemy and therefore cannot do as much to openly oppose them as we would like. In our own small way we get to people, educate them, spread the word, the hope, the message they are not alone. This earns you more punishment than outright disobedience though as the Death Eaters know just how dangerous that is. We do what we can."

There was a moment which Draco was sure he was glad to have missed where he felt certain someone took someone else's hand and smiled encouragingly. Then, before he could feel nauseous, Neville continued speaking.

"Third years have houses and wands. They wear all black to distinguish themselves and are hazed and abused terribly. It's sort of an initiation. Fighting past third year with anyone is strictly forbidden. At that point groups become coltishly close and train almost constantly."

"How do you know this?"

"We all had to sort of begin as first years this year. Each level things get more secretive so I'm sorry I can't give you more evidence. The worst rumor I've heard is that once you allow yourself to make it to the top they conduct a final test as a final examination. I believe it is like the Spartan tradition."

Hermione gasped. Draco nearly opened his mouth to ask what but there was no need."They have to kill," she said, and he could tell her hand was still over her mouth in horror.

"But won't people notice if a bunch of muggles go missing?"

"That's part of the challenge. You can't be caught."

"Most members of the D.A. can't be cruel enough to rise above third year. I'm a fifth along with Cho Chang and Ginny."

"Really? What about Ron?"

"Fourth, at last."

"Harry's at the Order right?"

"No, Harry's here. Snape looks out for him. As of right now the Dark Lord likes to have him where he can keep an eye on him and we feel its best as he feels less threatened."

"But Harry's okay right? Neville?"

"Look Hermione, don't blame yourself alright?"

"Where's Harry?"

"Hermione, do you remember what the prophecy said? "Neither can live while the other survives." And what does that mean?"

"That in the end Potter or the Dark Lord has to die" Draco clarified.

"That's what we thought, but it seems it's not exactly what we expected. Harry was able, as a child, to endure some very traumatic things, attempted murder, abuse, neglect, another brush with dark magic, qudditich injuries. One might even say he was unnaturally strong in some ways, at least magically able to conjure a fully fledged patronus in his third year."

"Yes,"

"But fourth year, aside from his conspicuous courage and unbelievable luck, Harry stressed he was not exceptional. Especially after Voldemort's resurrection he did not seem to posses any particular power. The next year, Harry suffered academically, mentally, and emotionally. He was weakened, you could say. We thought this was due to Cedric's murder, but as Voldemort has gained more and more strength we've noticed a different sort of connection between the two.

"Fifth year he suffered fainting spells and was unable to learn occlumency. Certainly it is a difficult task but patronuses had come with considerable ease and he made no progress in this venture. After Voldemort's introduction into society, Harry' performance again suffered. He was unable to save Dumbledore or defend himself against Snape."

"As one grows stronger, the other grows weaker."

"That's right and right now Voldemort is building an army and has control of most of the wizarding world, at least in the U.K."

"And Harry?"

"Harry is very ill."

"Where is he, Neville?"

"He's in the hospital wing. If Voldemort continues to gain strength as he has over the past few months we fear, well, it won't be necessary for Voldemort to kill him."

"You mean he'll die?" She set down her tea cup, unable to hold her hand steady any longer.

"We fear that yes."

"Neville," she said, taking a deep, steadying breath. "If I ask you to do something dangerous and of the utmost secrecy will you do it for me, please."

"Of course Hermione, you just name it then."

"Oh Neville. Look at you. You're so grown up. You look taller and nobler. You must be so accomplished." There was a note of jealousy in her tone, as if she wondered how accomplished she might have become if she'd been allowed to stay.

"Me? Look at you," Draco could hear the beaming. "And Malfoy," he whispered, "Is that really him?"

"Yes, it's really him." She laughed through her constricted throat.

"You look so much more… So different from when we were at school together, but I still remember that night we all snuck onto the third floor corridor and ran across that three headed dog. Feels like yesterday." He reminisced.

"Now everyone else can see how brave you are." She cooed.

"I hate to interrupt this, but hadn't we better get on with it?" Draco tried not to snap rousig himself from his farcical nap.

"Definitely Draco," He laughed and she giggled. Draco rolled his eyes. "What have you done to him though? He's …"

"Honorable and brave?"

"Gentlemanly."

"It was all there, hiding all along." She beamed at him. Neville looked as if he were surveying someone's prize steed. Though Draco thoroughly detested being talked about as if he were a sofa he thought the best course of action would be to take them off guard. His response though surprised even himself.

"Men in love act strangely," He offered gruffly. Slowly, eyes wide, Neville stood. Draco deeply wished her eyes would stop doing that ridiculous shinning thing.

"Good lord," said Neville softly, wiping his mouth subconsciously. "Good lord."

She abruptly switched the tracks on the conversation. "Draco's right. We must get down to business. I need to search this room and possibly others in the castle. I had hoped to get into the Chamber of Secrets but with Harry…" she trailed off.

His eyebrows went up, but if this request in other way alarmed him he gave no other indication. "I thought you might. Here, take the cloak and the map. It's funny though that you should mention the chamber,"

"Funny?"

"Harry and Ron went into the chamber earlier this year, got rather obsessive about it actually. It wasn't long after that Harry got ill…"

"Neville this is very important," she stressed, as if her tone did not make that glaringly obvious. "Did they retrieve anything from the Chamber?"

"They never said a word, but I saw them passing something once as I came in the room. Seemed they were hiding something but I couldn't be sure."

She fell back to her seat as if her knees were suddenly too weak to support her fragile weight. It struck him then how thin she looked.

"This is dreadfully important isn't it?"

"It is indeed. Neville I must have what they took from the chamber."

"It's almost certainly on Ron at all times."

"Then I must steal it and Neville you must say nothing, under any conditions, do you understand?"

"No," he frowned. Draco did not miss the way the other young man's eyes pointedly avoided his. "I don't understand why you don't just tell him, just tell him you are alive and ask him for the thing whatever it is-"

"Neville you've just got to trust me for the time being. It's all for the best. I know how horrible it must seem to you what I'm doing to them and I assure it's the last thing I want to do is to be separated from them and deceive them. But I'm protecting them and so whatever I ask you must do it. Can you trust me?"

"Of course Hermione." He seemed to think it silly to propose otherwise.

"And you must trust Draco too," here she took his arm in a gentle manner than surprised him "because I need you to accompany Draco to Malfoy Manor to retrieve a book."

"What?" From both there was a moment of outrage, protest, and then silent acquiescence.

"You are both purebloods and might hope to get in and out. You two are the smartest, bravest wizards of our age."

"Beside you, you mean." They blurted out in unison. And then it happened. They laughed. In the midst of everything else, there was laughter between too people who had never before smiled in one another's presence. Draco looked at Hermione, who also laughed while looking abashedly back and forth between them, and he was struck by a sudden thought that she had done something incredible, that she had facilitated this miracle. What a strange idea.

For some reason Neville had a similar expression no doubt attributing his prodigal return to the school to her as well. Then he realized it was entirely her fault. She was amazing.

"What will you be doing in the meantime?"

"I'll be stealing the object from Ron and I'll be looking for something else just in case,"

"You shouldn't do it alone," Draco shook his head imagining the horrors Voldemort would have planned for someone attempting to destroy bits of his soul.

"I won't be. Dobby will help me. We should meet just before dawn in the hospital wing with Harry. That's our last stop."

"Will the truth finally come out then?" Neville asked happiy to along blindly with any plan Hermione had constructed.

"In a way of speaking," Draco knew the truth. They would have to kidnap Harry, kidnap him with Neville's help, so they could kill him.

"I'm so glad you're back, Hermione." Neville reiterated apparently missing the dark look that came over her when he mentioned Harry. "I've just suddenly got the feeling like everything's going to be okay in the end you know?" The idiot, Draco reflected, was actually smiling with hope. What sort of imbecile looked at the world in which they were and could actually be foolish enough to hope for a happy ending? These sorts of things did not happen except in fairy tales where people could come back to life and all curses be lifted. Fairy tales were where true love lived forever and the lovers happily ever after, a thing he knew to be impossibility. Time was already short. He could feel it, buzzing like an insect in his ear.

"We should move in that case," was his steady, businesslike reply. Neville nodded, turning determined and professional in a moment. She was right; he had changed. He might be some help after all, but there was still not guarantee they would survive entering Draco's home. "Can I have a minute?" he begrudgingly asked Neville who looked surprised from him to Hermione then bumbling excused himself.

Draco caught her just above the elbow and pulled her close. Why the hell not? He might very well die in the next few hours. He held her tightly and kissed her forehead, neck, the top her head. She only wrapped her arms around him as well. He took her wrists, pulled her closer, and kissed her mouth. It was not their usual kiss, much less violent much deeper as if they had only been skimming the surface of things before. Perhaps they had been.

Then he rested his chin upon her head, she rested her head upon his chest, and they sighed. "Don't expect me to pull this off," he warned her. He'd let everyone else down. Now it was her turn.

"Did you mean what you said?"

"What?"

"You know," she blushed, looking down.

"Yes," he admitted without a scrap of joy.

"You know it's not fair. Love should make people happy shouldn't it?"

"No. All the great romances end in tragedy."

"Some end in happily ever after," but even she snorted at the idea.

"Only the fairy tales."

"Be careful." Time was up. They could feel it again. They were drawing closer to an end.

"You too."

"Good luck."

"Likewise."

"And Draco, I love you too."

"I know. It doesn't matter, love."

"I know."

A/N: Thanks for reading. Please review! Over 1,000 reviews already. You keep me writing!


	40. Only a Little

_A/N: I will not even begin to try to explain why it has been so long since I updated this story. I went to live in England, my mom got cancer, I came back and eloped, he went to war, I finished University, I started law school, my father had heart attack. Now, I was looking back at all the reviews and all the people who want me to continue, and one reader in particular took it upon themselves to ask me to pick this back up._

_You are the only reason I have returned. I will finish this story. I cannot guarantee there won't be a few things not quite parallel since it's been so long since I wrote the first part, but I'll do my best to give you the ending I had in mind. Hope you still enjoy it. _

_As always, thanks so much for reading. _

Chapter 40: Only a Little

It was abrupt and unceremonious. Of course, that is how parting often truly is. In matters which are truly desperate, there is no time for dramatics, no clinging, no time to lament or wish that things were different. The moment itself is much too urgent and all-consuming to allow such frivolity. So it was then Draco left her company, throwing wary eyes at Neville as though he were a stray dog who may, at any moment, get spooked and bite his new master. His eyes were noncommittal, reluctant. She thought he might refuse, but their unlikely path was the only one he saw as well.

If Harry were there, he might have filled them all with courage and even eagerness at the precipice before them which offered them, he'd say, the chance to become something greater than they were, to give something more than they could normally offer. To be heroes.

Neville certainly felt it; Hermione remembered the warmth of Gryffindor courage, but found her blood had cooled and hardened as of late. No less constant, but a good deal less fiery, she found herself resolute yet not excited, not proud. The truth was an unfortunate series of events had made the horrid commonplace and the terrible would have to be committed simply because they had been left no other option.

It would be unpleasant.

There was something comforting in the honesty of Draco's fearful grey eyes when Neville and Draco left with the Marauders Map and headed towards Hogsmeade.

There, they would slip past dementors and apperate to a safe point on the Malfoy grounds. Until then, Draco would have to trust Neville completely; after that, Neville would have to put ultimate faith in Draco. She smiled only a little at the cleverness of her scheme.

But quickly, her breath hitched just thinking about them walking back into that danger like into a mother's open arms. It wasn't that she did not have the utmost confidence in them both. It was fear. Fear with its soft, cold tones tickling her ear.

"_You know, this is really not going to work, my dear."_

"Shut up." She said aloud to an empty Room of Requirement. She pushed the whispers out of her mind. She swallowed the worry. Plans had to be made and put into motion immediately. She would have liked time to think, but things were catching up with her quickly. It was like running from the rising tide and her heels felt wet already.

The room around her looked different, as did the whole castle, but she felt something familiar deeper within the walls. It was comforting. Even filled with the enemy, it was home.

She was sorely tempted to go straight to Harry's side, but she knew better. She knew she had to think things through. Think, she told herself.

Ravenclaw's item was hidden in the castle since the Dark Lord returned fifty years ago. Harry and Ron had been in the Chamber of Secrets, where she was willing to bet it had been. The other had to be Hufflepuff's because it was able to be passed from person to person, according to Neville who had come upon the two handling something.

Now she needed to get around the castle without being seen by Death Easters, or anyone for that matter. Then, she'd need to find the staff of Ravenclaw, and how to do that?

"I need," she thought, "Hogwarts A History." It appeared. She leafed through it, half the pages memorized like one's favorite scenes in a film one's seen countless times. Nothing leapt out on Ravenclaw, no particular place in the castle seemed more likely.

Luna was a Ravenclaw, a member of the DA, and she had a different way of looking at things. Perhaps there was something she had noticed.

"I need quill and paper." She took up her quill and began to scribbled a note to Luna trying to find the words that would prove to her and only her—that it was Hermione. She hoped Luna would maintain her usual lack of surprise at Hermione's sudden resurrection.

_Dear Friend,_

_Our mutual, Choice acquaintance is in need of a certain volume; it's Definitely A necessity. The book is in regards to your founder's favorite goblet and coat. If you have the time, pop over the hill for tea and ginger snaps on Wednesday. Her history has always My favorite One of the founders. _

_Thanks._

Hermione reviewed the note a dozen times, feeling certain almost anyone would recognize it as a code, but few would be able to figure it out. Luna of course, being an exceptionally bright Ravenclaw and open minded to all unexpected and unbelievable, would have no problem deciphering it. The choice friend in need was the Chosen One, Harry. Definitely and A were capitalized as to insinuate the D.A. The incorrect information about the coat and goblet (of which there was none) would make the desire to know about the staff obvious, she hoped. Popping over the hill for ginger snaps referenced the Weasleys, her neighbors. "Her" "My" and "One" were found in the final sentence, though she erased it twice, wondering if it was too risky to sign her name even in code.

She cursed not having the map, though she knew they needed it more. She did not dare wander about in the at night alone, not the way Neville had said things were run now. So many nights the prospect of sneaking would have sounded exciting—risky, perhaps, and tiring if they had classes in the morning. Harry would be well and Ron would not be angry and she would advise against while staying on their heels into the kitchens so her friends could gorge themselves happily as she tried desperately to make evident their enslavement to the little elves.

There was still a way to get around Hogwarts. "Dobby!" she summoned.

Dobby appeared and Hermione felt a wave of heat rush from her body. Relief filled her like fresh air.

"Miss Harry Potter's friend!" He yelped, landing on her. "Dobby was told you was dead, Miss!"

"Dobby, I need you to help me save Harry Potter." The proud smile that spread across his features and seemed to nearly lift him from the ground was answer enough.

"First, I need you to find Luna Lovegood. Can you do this? Give her this and let no one see it."

"That will be easy enough, Miss!" Dobby squeaked. "Does Miss need anything else? An apple tart perhaps?"

"No thank you, Dobby. That will be quite enough for the moment."

"Yes Miss!" With a snap, he was gone and left her alone in hall. Despite the fire that appeared, she felt a chill wrapped all about her as she awaited his return. There was nothing to twist and wrench a gut as moments of waiting in times of such urgency. It felt an hour at least before Dobby returned and she refused to allow herself a clock or allow herself to imagine where Draco was and how he was doing. Or Neville of course.

"Dobby delivered the note Miss! And she took some time reading it and asked Dobby some rather nosey questions, Miss, but all in all she was nice and told Miss hello and sent this reply." He held a neat parchment above his head for her, hopeful he had pleased her and satisfied his quest. She smiled, taking it.

It shook. Were her hands trembling? Only a little, she noticed.

_Dear Friend, _

It read.

_Headmaster Snape has the staff in question. He carries it with him often, but not always. Where it is when it is not on his person is currently unknown. Come tonight at midnight to the Ravenclaw tower and we shall disguise you and find this out. So glad you are not dead._

_Your Friend,_

_Luna Lovegood_

Her eyes swelled in gratitude. Luna had recognized her message entirely. Suddenly, it was as if parts of her which had gone missing fell comfortably back into place. She was to be student, if only in guise, once more. She was to be alongside a friend. In Hogwarts. She was to walk these halls. She was to sit in the Great Hall. She, the old Hermione, was to rise to the surface, to come alive again, if just for this one night more. Snape was an obstacle she had not expected to encounter, a considerable one, but somehow she felt the memory of hope. The DA could easily sneak and lie and trick its way into anything, anything for Harry certainly.

This prospect made her breast dangerously full, tightened her throat, burned her face. For the first time in ages, she allowed herself to imagine what may happen, a changed world. She allowed herself to hope for her freedom, for her friend's life, for the Dark Lord's defeat, for a future.

"Wonderful, Dobby," she spoke at last. She destroyed the note and looked down at the elf in seriousness. "What I have need of now can get you in a great deal of trouble. If you do not wish to do this you do not have to. If we succeed, it won't matter much after tonight anyway I do not believe. But if we fail."

"We will not fails, Miss. Dobby knows Dobby is a free elf, free to do as he pleases and he does not have to do anything. But if Dobby is free to chose Dobby's fate, then Dobby would like to help Harry Potter and his nice friends. And Dobby does not care what happens to him."

Hermione grabbed Dobby into a hug that she strongly suspected nearly crushed the poor creature. He smiled eagerly awaiting his commands.

"I need you to steal some polyjuice potion."

Again Hermione found herself pacing back and forth across the floor. She counted her footsteps, echoing unheard by anyone else in the castle. She waited in a suspended orb, not seeing or hearing anything of the outside world. Separate once more, as she had been lately.

Soon enough Dobby appeared, panting wildly, ears flopping. He handed her a bottle of what she instantly recognized as what she needed. There was still at least one important thing that she was very much lacking and had yet to find a clever way around that.

"Thank you, Dobby!" her legs ached to walk the castle herself. "I must find a way to get to Ravenclaw tower without being seen. If I had Harry's cloak-"

"Dobby cannot make Miss invisible, but Dobby can take Miss to see her friend there."

"I'd have to make sure I was not spotted in the halls, though."

"We would not be in the halls, Miss." Dobby shook his big head. "We would be here and then we would be there." He blinked.

Hermione Granger smacked herself in the face. Hard. She had been trying so desperately to see she had been utterly blind. Of course! Houselves could apperate inside Hogwarts grounds with side partners.

"Dobby will apperate Miss there, but then Dobby must go now and see to Harry Potter, Miss. It is Dobby's duty. If Miss should need Dobby again, just call!"

Ravenclaw tower was around them suddenly, a room in which Hermione had never stood. She found herself very much alone, not only sans Dobby, but in an entirely deserted room. This was partially a relief.

There were no tapestries lining the tall stonewalls of the narrow reaches of the tower. The bare rafters were hung only with an eerie echo that made her stop in her tracks and retreat a bit into the shadow against the curve of the wall. From above, columns of grey light trickled in; from below a faint red glow brushed the lower half. Dust twirled in the air.

Other than this, there was nothing left. No furniture, no abandoned quills or open books, no chess sets, no sign of the vibrant student life that had once filled this room when it was used for its original purpose. Only the sound filled it, the sound which reverberated through everything in the room, even her. It set her hair and nerves on end, rippled her skin into goose pimples. It bounced off the bare walls, made them tremble. She felt a thrill run through her, then, slowly, her ears began to recognize it. She felt her legs pull her forward until she was in the main chamber. There she saw people standing on risers, their faces turned towards the grey light, their mouths open. It was bizarre, like the crying out of baby birds, waiting on the heavens to provide. Something about it was familiar.

They were singing. The sound that tightened her chest was the deep and light, airy sounds of a choir. A harp accompanied them, as did a sitar, a triangle, and a pair of large drums playing themselves in a corner. A piece of parchment was slipping at one ear from the wall "Hogwarts Hope Choir: Top Secret."

It seemed strange to Hermione that people would risk their lives to sing. To learn to fight in the DA or serve in Order seemed logical. Even to risk one's life to learn some ancient, secret magic was plausible, but as the notes swelled like waves and soared and cascaded she felt their power. They gave something no potion or enchantment could offer. The Slytherins did what they needed to survive, took opportunities to succeed, careful not to side with anyone who may one day not be invulnerable. Gryffindor assembled a resistance, what few of them were left. Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff struggled, in their wisdom and good faith, to keep something else alive other than themselves and their cause. They filled her with hope and she realized it was not dead-just frozen like a butterfly caught in frost. These voices had but to breathe their warmth onto its wings and it was alive again, fluttering delicately in a bitter chill.

She wished Draco could hear their sounds, feel them physically in the acoustics of the room as she could. He could so do with some hope now. She touched her ring absentmindedly, thinking of him, and found the dark voice returned.

"Why should he return? He could win the Dark Lord's heart with what he knows."

The notes drowned its hushed malice out.

As the song concluded, Hermione cast a small spell which cast a flicker of her patronus into a corner. A few moments later, as the choir dismounted and whispered to one another, the slightly curious expression of Luna Lovegood appeared before her like a scared apparition. Her face was pale with the cold and her hair dim from want of sunlight. But she was the same.

It was surprising that these people still existed somehow. As if when they disappeared from her world, they ceased to exist all together. And as it became real, she started to wonder if perhaps the rest had not been a nightmare. For certainly both truths—so great and so terrible—could not be in the same world at the same time.

Luna pressed a finger to her lips, smiling slightly to see her, and placed in her hand hair. Hermione stuffed it into her bottle of polyjuice potion and shook it. Taking her hand, Luna led her silently through the room a few people seemed to take notice,

"Luna they've seen me!"

"Don't worry; they won't dare to believe their eyes." She informed her simply, unconcerned.

The other girl led Hermione to an adjoining one where some of the new Hogwarts robes were laid. Taking a swig, she welcomed the pain of the transformation. Glancing in a mirror she saw a vaguely familiar face, but did not bother to study it in the dim light. She changed her clothes.

"Thank you, Luna. Now, where to?"

"You have to go and get the staff. There can't be two of me walking around." Her gaze shot back to mirror and she recognized her stolen identity as her friends.

"I can't do this alone!"

"You have to. I've done my part of this. I have to stay hidden and be there as soon as you leave so it doesn't look as though someone has disappeared."

"But I don't even know where to find Snape."

"You will think of a way to find him. You're very bright, you know."

"Perhaps I could get into trouble." Hermione tried, frowning and beginning to pace.

"Oh I wouldn't. He doesn't deal directly with discipline anymore. And you don't want to meet those who do."

She shuddered. "Who does?"

"They are calling them the Angels of Justice."

"Oh God. The brothers?"

"You know them?"

"The smell mudblood." She breathed, her eyes widening.

"Yes."

"They will find me."

"And sensing you are someone special, they will take you to Snape."

The cold shipped around her as if she were caught in a winter wind. "Thank you for your help, Luna." Hermione began with gratitude.

"Do you know what the staff does?" The blonde wondered aloud.

"It does something?" Hermione blinked, dumbly. This, undocumented legend, was not her forte.

"I assumed that's why you wanted it. It's said to make you smarter, but that's just jealous rumors spread about Ravenclaw. It doesn't though."

"What does it do?" she remained a bit skeptical.

"Something those who think with logic often forget to do that which defies it." Hermione pondered. "Feel." Luna emphasized, smiling slightly for no reason at all.

"Empathy!" She realized. "Luna, does it really?"

Luna shrugged as if it hardly mattered. Hugging her friend, the Ravenclaw wished her good luck and watched her walk from the tower into the halls as if into sleep.

She walked the dark halls. And she knew the feeling of the men who ran into the battle, towards the bloodshed, looking their own horrible ends in the face. Ran, not marched with leaden legs, when all they wanted to do was run back, hide in the bushes, begin that long trek homeward.

She walked the halls, and felt the shades of memory. Memories of her life, perhaps not all of them but all the important ones. A troll. A polyjuice potion. A ball. Memories that belonged to so many others, some who found it impossible to leave—she spied a glimpse of floating opaque coattail down a corridor. Over a thousand years of memories. Some that brought laughter, some that brought tears. Even when it was dark and it was empty as it was then, the halls rang with them.

At first, she walked like one walking the plank, unsteady shaken by the draft and wind whipping around her, holding herself. But then, it became easier. It became natural. She walked as she always had. As so many had. She walked as Sydney Carton, into death, for what better rest can we go to?

And she came around a corner and she was in the hands of a monster. As in a nightmare, her throat constricted, she could not scream. What good would it do? This was it now. This was happening. This was nothing the fun thrill of being discovered by a friendly teacher who deducts house points and send you on your way. There were no house points. There were no friendly faces.

A tall man, with broad shoulders and dark eyes who might have been handsome if everything about him did not reek of danger and wickedness, grasp her tightly. His brothers appeared from the shadows. She remembered the story of these killers. Of their so called talents. She even recalled first seeing them, dressed as knights in shining armor at a ball which seemed a lifetime ago.

And she let the smell her, and manhandle her, question her, and drag her by the arm to see Snape. She was surprised to find that she felt no fear, that remaining silent as they pulled her hair, or cursed her, was easy. They could only read, smell, the fear on their victims, like beasts do. She no longer felt anything. Their powers were useless.

An odd thought entered her mind: is this how Victor Krum felt before he was killed?

Krum. His letter. Halloween.

"_I have little time left to live, of this much I am certain, so let me be frank and brief: Lord Voldemort has taken measures, extreme measures it is true, to ensure his survival, but even this magic can be fought. Moments ago, I destroyed one of the Dark Lord's links to immortality in the form of a silver goblet…"_

Krum. Krum had destroyed a goblet. Hufflepuffs. She had not realized when she told Draco…

So, Harry had destroyed a diary. Sirius's brother had destroyed a locket. Dumbledore had destroyed a ring. One was on its way to her and she was on her way to the final two. Every step, every tap of their boots and scuffle of her shoes on the stone, brought her closer the a destiny which no one could make out. She saw the castle, more sullen than it had been during Cedric's memorial. No spirit of the school, no evidence of children. It could have been a military fortress. It probably was.

She expected to be taken to the Headmaster's office, but she was not. It was a familiar trek though— so many times she had made it. She now felt unready.

'This is happening now.' She told herself, trying to keep emotions at bay. 'So it is supposed to happen now.' The clock they passed, moved its iron hands ominously, unable to be stopped or hurried.

They entered the hospital wing.

At the end of the long wing, as a figure in a dream or nightmare, Snape's tall figure stood black against the already dim room. He was tall and sullen, looming over Harry's unmoving form like a gargoyle protruding from the face of a building.

"Master," one of the brothers spoke. She tried not to shudder. "This one smells like a mudblood."

Snape's small black eyes turned towards her and she could not see anything but his silhouette, but felt them. "That's Lovegood, idiot. You must be wrong."

"I am not wrong!" he snapped. So like a Malfoy. With an angry flourish of his cape, Snape strode towards them, crossing the room in minutes. They wavered not. As he grew closer, she saw Snape was shorter and small than these men, but when he extracted his wand, there was a hum of electricity in the air.

"Lumos."

He examined her, his hooknose so close that his breath was on her. She wanted to convey to him who she was. Think, Hermione. Think for God's sake— now is not the time to be brainless. Mentally she wanted to plead, but she must keep her mind free from blame, from fear.

Urgency burned through her as his wand skimmed her robes, her skin. His greasy hair softly brushed her forehead.

The light hit her ring. He either did not or pretended not to notice, moving the wand back to her face. He placed his long fingers, smelling of herbs, onto her face.

She swallowed.

"Leave her." His voice was low, contemptible, not amused or interested. He turned away.

Reluctantly, they agreed conducting about turns and returning to troll the halls for people half their size to torment. Nothing but disgusting, overgrown bullies, Hermione reflected bitterly.

She guessed Snape cast a few wordless spells before he grabbed her hand. She struggled a bit against his firm hand, squirming when she saw his intent, not wanting him to take the ring. He stared at her unreadable as he clutched her hand between them, his grip painful. He let it go with disgust and turned back to his post like a guard. Nursing it, she waited for him to speak.

"Why have you come back, Granger?"

"I need the staff."

"Where is Draco?"

"He'll be here shortly." Again, he shot a glance towards her and she felt his skepticism even though she could not see it. Cautiously, she drew closer, not looking at her friend. "How bad is he?"

"_Neither can live while the other survives_... Voldemort grows stronger, Potter grows weak. It's hard for me to pity him when his eyes are closed. He looks so like his father."

"I need to take him."

"And the staff."

"Yes."

"This is the end is it?" he asked simply, sounding much older than he was. He was tired.

"It will be soon."

"You do not sound blindly hopeful in your success anymore." He sneered.

"I am no longer blind." Bravely, she laid her hand upon his on the bars of the foot of Harry's bed. "But I still have hope."

"You'll need the sword. Stay here."

He strode from the room, taking the staff with him and she had no choice but to remain in the hospital wing. Taking deep breaths which seemed absurdly loud in the dark, she faced her best friend.

He did not move. He had grown thinner. Circles under his eyes were dark. He looked almost like a child, or a corpse of one. This boy who had torn pink faced through the sky at breakneck speed, laughing. This boy who had feasted, no gorged himself, at so many Hogwarts and Weasley meals. This boy nervously confided in her his crush, who bravely fought a dragon, who loyally comforted Hagrid when he lost his wild pets, who bore all the ridicule and distrust that society could heap upon him.

Unable to open his eyes. To spread his lips and take a sip of water. Unable to speak to her, perhaps even to listen.

She clutched his hand and found it burning with heat. Bowing her head, her tears she would deny fell onto his still, pale face. She touched his hair, smelled it. "Harry?" The door shut. She jerked up and peered through the dark room, lighting her wand. There was no one. A draft must have closed it.

She returned to Harry. The first pink light of morning shot through the grey glass. It was growing near. "Harry I am so sorry…for everything that's happened….for everything that is about to happen. No matter what happens, I will always be your best friend."

A hand on her shoulder made her jump out of her skin and nearly wet herself. She barely contained a yelp of surprise. She turned with her wand upon the aghast expression of Ronald Weasley. She gasped.

"Hermione?" he asked in disbelief.

"Ron, I—"

"You're alive? Really?" he grabbed her and closed her in a massive hug that cut off her air supply. There were no words.

"We have the cup! Krum sent it somehow. It took a while, but—"

"I know. Ron, you have to trust me. More than ever before. You must!"

"Wha—"

The door flung open and Ron disappeared underneath Harry's old cloak.

Snape was at her side in a moment, either unable to see or politely ignoring her tears. "Here is the staff."

"Thank you."

"How will you move him?" They looked down at Harry's weak form under the white sheets.

A tap at the window drew their attention and even with all she had faced, she still could not help the flip her stomach did. Neville climbed from the thin air onto a window ledge and opened the door, stepping inside.

"Hermione! You have to hurry! He knows!"

_A/N: I apologize if the Horcrux stuff got confusing or if there were mistakes. I was trying to re-read mine, forget the real book. I feel there are some plot holes since I am picking it back up after so long, so please be sympathetic. Also, please forgive the errors. Just trying to give you guys the ending as fast as I can. Hope you like it! _

_Please review if you want me to continue!_


	41. All This Time

_A/N: Thank you for reviewing! Welcome to all new readers—so glad to hear from you. To old readers, I cannot thank you enough for returning. _

_To those who have not yet reviewed, please let me know what you think of each chapter (likes and dislikes) and what you hope/want/don't want to see happen next. It's a tremendous help and lets me know who is waiting for a new chapter. _

_Hope you find this one exciting! _

_**Warning**_: _Violence. Language._

Chapter 41: All This Time

Well, hell. This was the end.

Everyone was about to die.

Like a man standing on the deck of ship as it's bow is stretched forward into the expectant, grey arms of the frigid sea, he felt calm.

Perhaps it was the certainty of death. Perhaps it was that his mind was simply elsewhere. With her. Her distraction may literally be the death of him. Or her plans may be. He certainly did not like the sound of this one.

No one knew better than he how hard it would be to sneak in or out of Malfoy Manor, let alone both. Still, he had to admit that she was right in sending Neville. If they got out of there alive with the book, he'd have to trust him. Plus, Neville was pureblood. The wards would let Draco enter because of his Malfoy blood. And Neville, having never been there, wouldn't be detected by Bellatrix's pets or the Angels of Justice because of his pureblood.

They had a shot at least at things going smoothly, but he hated to think of her there without the map Neville had or the cloak Potter had. Moving dots with names moved along the halls of Hogwarts, allowing them to avoid crossing paths and leading them to unmarked secret passage way. But Hermione would have to stalk the halls alone. How on earth was a house elf going to help her? Oh well. If he'd learned anything it was that she was not to be underestimated.

Still, something in the plan did not feel right to him. Something was off. Maybe it was the bit about killing her. Then, if that worked, killing Harry Potter.

These morbid thoughts greedily consumed his entire brain as he walked mindlessly along the secret passageway. Roots stretched and dipped and embraced the ceiling in places. Stone floor in some places, in other place dirt. No light. It seemed to go on forever. So many day dreams could flow into his head in the distance between the school and Hogsmeade. So many nightmares.

He shook his head to clear it as they at last emerged from the underground tunnel through which they had been traveling. Neville cautiously opened a trapdoor above them and went, wand-first, to clear a pitch black cellar type area, Draco guessed by the scent and temperature. Along the passageway, Neville had been giving him apprehensive and disbelieving looks, but now he was more tentative than a mouse, looking more like his old self.

Draco emerged with him, setting him slightly more at ease, but Longbottom stopped him from lighting his wand tip. There must be silence. And no light. No wards. These could trip the alarms, attract attention. Bring dementors. Their cold. The memories they would bring.

"_Where is my mother?" _

They had to climb a set of stairs Longbottom brought him to as soundlessly as possible. The process was painstaking, each creak of wood deafening, but they rose, ready to attack, and entered Honeydukes Sweet Shoppe.

They pressed their faces against the cold panes of the shop's windows, trying to sense when the dementors were passing. With each soundless, yet ominous approach and black swoosh past, Draco felt drained. The two of them, shoulder to shoulder, shuddered and their teeth chattered from the cold inside and out. Together, they heard only no sounds in the village or the shop, not a mouse scurrying or crying babe, save the ticking of the clock, which was speeding away with unfair haste.

Once the creatures' pattern of movement was memorized, the two young men synchronized by gripping one another's fingertips in silence. Longbottom lifted a ward wordlessly and they stepped into a snowy, deserted street. With only a fraction of a second's hesitation, Longbottom grabbed a tight hold of Draco and Draco was careful to make the most fluid and exact apparition of his life. In the corner of his eyes, as the night began to lift its darkness, he glimpsed a pair of black figures gliding down a street.

With a jerk and a pop, they found themselves standing in the small home of Casus Malfoy, falcons stirring close overhead in surprise. A sigh of relief moved through them, letting go of one another as soon as humanly possible. They stepped forward, cautiously, waited for an attack, a trap. None came.

Draco reached forward and tapped the bird's legs, and it stepped backwards onto his hand. He held it like it was the sorcerer's stone. He savored the feeling of the life pulsating in his hands under warm feathers. Let its warmth seep into his fingers. Counted the taps of its little hear beating away.

Then, he pulled a piece of parchment from a nail and a coal pencil from a ledge. He scrawled a quick message as he instructed Longbottom,"You must not run. The dogs will chase you. Ignore the bear. Avoid the unicorn. You are pureblood, so inside you will be invisible to their security. I must send two letters. Inside, we will meet Knobby the house-elf who will take us through secret passageways to the library. We get the book Hermione wants. We leave."

"What are you doing?" Longbottom asked suspiciously as Draco rolled and fastened the two letters and attached them to Ares his falcon. "Letting Knobby know we are here." He ruffled his falcon's feathers a bit, affectionately, clicking his tongue. He flew through the window with a pleasant soft sound of wings pounding air.

They sat in the shack and waited. Again.

"If this the house of Casus Malfoy?" Longbottom asked.

"You know the story?" Draco's his voice constricted with intensity of the moment. Neville sat as if visiting, a bit of an awkward visit in a rather dank place, but awaiting tea nonetheless. Damn Gryffindor. So comfortable at the brink of the destruction, so eager to die for some cause. He'd not be risking his life at all if there were any alternative for he and Hermione to be safe. He tried to convince himself he was dead to the world anyway—so what did he really have to lose?

Still. The pain, the fear. Did Gryffindors not think of this? Was something miss-wired in their brains? He always thought it was glorified stupidity, their bravery. And so many got themselves killed, but all became instant martyrs. Martyrs. He mentally scoffed taking in the familiar room; they did not know the meaning of the word.

"Of course. I have the same heritage as you, you know?" Neville informed him. "Just because I don't kill mudlboods doesn't make me any less a wizard. Gran used to read me the story, growing up. Strange to be here. Feels so important, but eerie." He examined the room thoughtfully.

"I don't actually kill mudbloods, you know. Not being a commoner, or a Gryffindor doesn't make me a Death Eater. What kind of a Death Eater would be in love with a mudblood?"

"You really love her?"

"That's not really your business, is it, Longbottom?"

It was silent for a moment. Draco found him starring quizzically at him. "You know, I always thought you were a coward."

A small, sharp cry interrupted them. Ares had returned.

The blonde stood, hating everything about his life at that moment. "I am."

They trekked through the garden where he had chased Hermione months before, where he had played as a child, where his mother had picnicked with him for his second birthday. He heard the snorting of his bear, the neighing of his unicorn. He did not dare turn his head to look.

It was so easy for them. They stood to gain something from this war. What were they giving up? A shack on a hill? They could never know the happiness, the safety he had once felt in Malfoy Manor, knowing his family would do anything, anything, to protect him. Having anything he wanted. He had no need to make a name for himself; he had a name.

He spied the fountain and then, for the first time, something new occurred to him.

"Ciatrix Manet: the mark remains." It did, but not upon him any longer. He was free, not from his heritage, but from its burden. He walked a little lighter in the confines of the garden, remembering when Hermione had read those words under the golden eagle statue.

_Even as she stared at it, the inscription changed: "It is of no consequence of what parents a man is born, as long as he be a man of merit."_

_She gave a small start...Before she could appreciate it fully, a new line of writing was being scrawled along the edge of the fountain. It replied: "Undeservedly, you will atone for the sins of your fathers."_

And she had, of course.

His anger grew. And that made his steps stronger and his blood warmer. Neville followed silently, not paying attention to the scenery. They reached a slab of wall near a corner of the house and saw Knobby awaiting them. As they got close, the servant, looking even more nervous than usual, revealed a small elf-size opening.

"I swear you to secrecy." Draco snapped at the elf for its protection as well as theirs, lighting his wand and climbing inside the tiny opening on his knees. Neville followed behind him. On hands and knees like a slave, he climbed through the secret passageways of his own home, the ones he'd instructed the elf to use to save Hermione if the time came. His anger deepened to rage and he felt sick with it.

"The library is to your left, sir." a quiet squeak behind him informed. The scraping of their movements stopped.

"I must go in alone." He whispered to his companion.

"And leave me trapped like a rat in a hole? I don't think so." Neville objected. "How do I know you're not just going to try to weasel your way back in by offering me?"

"Wouldn't I have brought someone more important?" he retorted with impatience. "Potter for instance?"

He seemed to accept this logic. "Maybe I can help." The other young man offered.

"No." Draco insisted. "If I get caught, I may need to play along. I can't do that if I've got you with me. Besides, if I have to escape another way I could do it complete darkness. Wait here for me to return."

"And if you don't?"

Draco's throat constricted and his stomach turned.

"Leave quickly. Don't run." Neville nodded, obviously not liking the idea, but accepting it nonetheless.

Draco crept from the passageway and stood. It sealed behind him.

He was standing in the library. His constellation burned dimly overhead, the others cavorted and writhed. A great red-orange fire alone lit the room, throwing a trembling light upon its features. The words above the door glowed in it. _In Libris Libertas. _Never would it be so true.

He set out at once to accomplish his mission, and went to the place on the shelf where it might be. He thought with some unexpected humor that this mix of terror and joy was likely what Hermione felt each time her finger tips grazed the spines of books on a bookshelf. He smiled a little at that as in that moment he came to it, and he felt as though the fire was illuminating him a little too. He took it from the shelf and placed it inside safely his robes.

Then, he was disturbed.

There was a gentle tinkling sound and his breath caught in his chest. Wide eyed, he turned to an armchair by the fire. A hand with long, pale fingers replaced a glass to the small, circular table at its right. A hand he recognized.

"Father."

"Draco." The man spat. "You have come back to beg my forgiveness, appeal to me for your protection."

"No, father."

"No?" the man stood faster than Draco had thought he would, his staff in hand, his face furious, and his long, blonde hair askew. "How dare you enter this place!"

"This is Malfoy Manor. And I am a Malfoy."

"HA!" he laughed irately. "A Malfoy doesn't carry on with a mudblood behind my back! A Malfoy doesn't crawl on his knees through a servants tunnel, and most of all a Malfoy doesn't abandon his family!"

He could say nothing. All of this was true, and he expected it. He did not expect his father's sudden change in demeanor. Dejected.

"You left me alone." He said, pathetic. "Your mother is gone. Why would you leave me alone?" And Draco felt something rip inside his chest. His father who had risked everything for him, protected him, tolerated his shortcomings. He was afraid too. He wasn't some Gryffindor with dreams of invincibility. He was human.

"Father," he nearly cried like a child, but he could not ask for forgiveness. "I didn't want to leave you; please, let me explain. You're in danger, or will be shortly. Let me help you! I'm still your son."

"My son is DEAD!" he raged like a madman.

Draco's pale face stared at him in dismay.

"Or you will be shortly," came the whisper, along with the swift sound of wood scraping wood as Lucius Malfoy extracted his wand from his staff and pointed it at Draco who ducked behind a desk. It was blown apart, and papers flew like ashes fluttering from a disturbed fire.

Panting and shaking, Draco remained crouched behind a case as his father's voice drew closer.

"I'll make sure they kill her too, you know. And before they do, I'll make sure I ravage her the way you never had the manhood to do!"

"Avada Kedavra!" Draco was shocked to find the spell did not come from the older man, but from him.

For a moment, time was suspended as they looked at one another in astonishment. And a snap shot across the room, grazing Draco's fine cheek and shattering a glass lamp behind him. The warm blood spilled down his face and he retaliated.

It began. Quick. Draco moved with grace from his experience of practicing with Hermione. He was patient. Agile. Conserved his energy. His muscles ached, his lungs hissed with effort. His clothes felt heavier and heavier. His hair dripped sweat into his open wound, stinging. It stung his eyes and blurred his vision in an room already cluttered with dust and debris.

"You fight well," his father panted, impressed. It still had the power to fill Draco with pride, even as he shot a cruciatus curse at his son. The library was destroyed as they blew through it. Papers rained down around them. The oriental carpet was stained with blood, a constellation burned out.

Sparks, from a spell or fire, caught upon a huge velvet curtain. Neither noticed at first and when they did, neither had an opportunity to spare to put it out. In hardly any time at all, it spread up the walls. The room began to burn around them. Smothering them with smoke, cooking them alive. Dodging spells, Draco staggered towards the secret servant's entrance, knocking along it. It opened. Neville's hand reached up for him.

"Father!" Draco called, turning back, coughing and fanning his arm through the smoke. "Father, please come!"

The air and wall beside him cracked with a green streak of light. He felt its wind upon his face. It moved his hair. His father's stumbling figure came into view. He thought he was yelling, but could not be certain as the fire was devouring greedily and making a great din in doing so. His tall, grey silhouette was engulfed in the flames of the room.

Draco raised his wand to cast Aguamenti and extinguish the flames, but he saw his father's long arm pointing towards him, heard somehow the last syllable of the killing curse hurled at him or at Neville who was now at his side pleading with him to leave, desperately trying to put out the fire as well.

"You will not leave! You will not take him!" his father roared, charging at them. Neville rasied his wand to stun. But the Slytherin knew that the man was either going to kill Draco or burn alive unable to move, so without thought, without realizing even what he was doing, Draco aimed his wand directly at his father's chest and the spell disappeared into the haze.

Green light contrasted sharply with the yellow-red lips of the fire. In that instant, the hues met like the horizon. And the young men had leapt inside the tunnel for safety. It closed behind them with a grinding sound and thud.

"Evacuate the elves!" Draco ordered, and Knobby disappeared. They scrambled through on their hands and knees, scrapping away their skin. Draco felt dizzy from exhaustion and breathing in the smoke. He coughed now and then causing Neville to cast him nervous glances which he pointedly ignored.

Once outside, they were forced to walk while legs ached to flee. The sound of crackling fire was behind them. The bear whined, eagle screeched, horse screamed, and hounds bayed at the burning house as if calling for help. Draco so dearly wanted to take them with him. They would be safe, the fire contained and the boarders confined. The house would be ruins. He could feel the heat of it on his back. He did not look back.

As soon as they reached an apparation point, he grabbed hold of Neville who took them with a pop to the very boarder of Hogwarts on the edge of the woods. They sprinted until they were safely inside its borders. Clutching his side, Longbottom panted, "Do you have it?"

Draco produced the book from his pocket and replaced it with a flourish.

"We've got to meet Hagrid. He'll give us transport for you to get out of here." Neville Longbottom retrieved the map from his pocket and searched for Hagrid's dot, scanning for interference. "They are already in the hospital wing, with Harry." He announced and they were running again towards a dark patch of forest. Draco wanted to lie down and sleep.

The threstrals were grotesque, but friendly. A little uneasy at first around the beasts, Draco found they were partial to him and it had been so long since he'd felt the sky on his face. It felt pleasantly cool. He was high above the earth, away from all the threats and impossibilities. He felt nothing but the air whipping past him.

"We have to hurry." Draco informed his companion, though there was no need. He could not possibly fly any faster without falling off his broom, the lump. "He'll know soon."

"Voldemort?"

He nodded.

Shortly, they came to the window of the hospital wing and Neville helped Hermione and an unconscious Harry onto the threstral he had ridden. Snape's familiar figure handed Hermione a tiny vial of golden liquid. She nodded with understanding.

"Good luck." Neville called as they sped away into the pink and golden lights of the dawn. "We'll hold them off as long as we can."

He flew close to the girl at his side. She looked fearful. She trembled with the cold of flying and the fear of it. She used all the strength left in her body to keep Potter's form upright.

"Why don't we trade loads?" he offered. "I'll let you hold the book." He tried to be playful, teasing.

"There's no way I could pass him over without dropping him." she grunted.

"I should have taken him."

"No I'd much rather have him. I don't want to be anywhere near that thing to be honest."

"That's a first." He joked. She offered him a small smile. It was pathetic.

London came into view sometime later, and they looked for a place to land. Hermione seemed to be looking quite intently for a specific place. Morning burned on. It grew later. They circled an are of the city as closely as they dared. At last, she picked a place. The landing was a little harsh and they tumbled into an alley. Two teenagers dressed entirely in black one wearing a dog collar with metal spikes the other sporting several exotic looking face piercings, sat side by side, smoking. They stared at the trio in surprise.

"Man! Did you see that weird shit they were riding?" One boy said to the other.

The other shook his head and blinked a few times. "Mate, I didn't see anything. Where did they come from?"

Trying to support a semi-conscious Harry between the two of them, they reeled and lurched down to the street.

"You mean to tell me you didn't see those big black things?"

"You gotta quit smoking this stuff..."

A couple blocks down, Draco grunted "Where are we going?"

"Not far now." Then she added, "Uh-oh."

A police officer on his beat approached them.

"Just picking up our friend officer. He, uh, had too much last night." Hermione explained. The officer nodded, frowning a little and watching them closely as they passed by. At the end of the street, Hermione turned and dropped Harry on a bench a few feet down the lane.

Huffing, she placed her hands on her hips. Draco pulled string of her wild hair from her eyes.

"Draco, what happened?" she touched his cheek, seeing him clearly for the first time in daylight.

"My welcome home from my father."

She gasped, covering her mouth. "He knows?"

"He's dead."

"Oh Draco." She healed the wound.

"What are we doing now?" He changed the subject.

"I don't know," she bit her lip, looking as though she were going to cry.

"I thought you had a plan!" He tried to keep his annoyance from his tone.

"I did! I do. But I'm, I'm lost." And with that she collapsed onto the bench, really her friends legs, and dissolved into tears. Still frustrated with her, he knew they stood no chance unless she could think clearly. He certainly had no idea where they were going. He tentatively rubbed her back.

"Hermione!" Harry groaned.

"Oh, Harry, I'm sorry I—"

"I thought you promised I'd never have to see you again." A gruff voice said from behind them. Draco whipped around and Hermione stood, wands drawn.

"Put that away!" It was the man who had once helped them in London, the one Draco had given money to in Diagon Alley so long ago. "Is _that_?" He indicated Harry. Draco nodded.

"We need your help again." Hermione announced. He gaped for a moment, running his fingers through his thinning golden hair.

"Well, I'll be goddamned. This way!" he snapped. "And cast a spell to lighten him, for Christ's sake." Hermione did as the bellhop instructed and they stashed their wands, following him down the street.

"John isn't it? Draco asked, after several blocks of following his steps closely.

"It is. And that boy needs a doctor. It's your lucky day."

"How so?" Hermione inquired.

"I am doctor. Or was. Before I was a drunk."

"Are you a wizard?"

He shook his head. "My wife was."

"She's gone?" Draco inquired. John did not speak, but he felt the older man's response. "I'm sorry."

At last, they entering a raggedly looking flat. They could hear the neighbors fighting from outside. A dog barking down the street.

"John, can you do cpr?" Hermione said.

"Why?"

"We have to kill him and revive him." She nodded towards Potter.

"But isn't this—?" He began.

"If you're not a wizard," Draco objected, "Then how do you know that? And how did I see you in Diagon Alley?"

He opened his mouth to explain, but Hermione cut him off hastily. "We don't have time. John, I am Harry Potter's best friend and have to kill him and bring him back. It's the only thing that will break the curse keeping him weak."

"What if it doesn't work?"

"He'll die anyway. Will you do it?"

He nodded, his hands unsteady and went to a table to grab a bottle of scotch. He took a swig. "Lay him of the floor with a pillow." He instructed. The other two did so, Next, Hermione pulled a sword from her pocket and a staff, tossing them on the floor a few feet away. Draco also dropped the book with disgust. They seemed to make a heaver sound than they should have.

A wave of sickness enveloped Harry. "I'm sorry, Harry." She said, holding his head as he retched. "It will be over soon." But it was not clear if this was comforting to him; he passed out.

"The goblet?" Draco asked her, examining their strange mess on the floor.

She shook her head dismissively. "This is it." Then to John, "We must destroy these first, to give him strength."

He nodded, not understanding. Hermione took up the sword first, awkward with its weight, and readied herself to strike the staff.

She hesitated. Shaking her head, she tried again, but failed.

"Hermione?" Draco asked, concerned she was too tired.

"I can do it!" He shut up.

This time, the sword shook as she brought it to the floor with a clatter, not hitting the staff. She swooned, then shouted, "SHUT UP! JUST SHUT THE HELL UP!"

"No one said anything!" he protested. John looked at them as if they were both mad then took another drink.

She wept. "I have to destroy it, don't you understand? I have to!" With a swift motion, Draco, sensing something primal, seized the sword and broke the ancient staff in two as it released a terrible scream. He felt something roll through him, almost painful yet almost pleasant, like thunder. Then, everything was very still.

They looked frightened at John.

"No one will notice in this place." he commented dryly, watching this bizarre event unfold in his flat.

"Draco, let me, please." She asked of the next one. He handed her the sword, reluctant, but certain she would have her way and not wanting to delay by arguing.

Looking apprehensive, she raised the sword above her head and brought it down with all her strength as fast as she could upon the book. The front cover, old and thin, was pierced. No sound. No image. They looked at each other dumbly and she tried again. And again. and again. Hacking away at it.

Finally, he pulled her off.

"That has to be it!" She cried as he held her back against his chest. "That has to be it!"

Hope draining from him like blood quickly fleeing a wound, his knees sank them to the dirty floor. She covered her face and cried.

"It had to be it." He spoke mostly to himself as John paced. "Something from my family's connection to Casus Malfoy. The only thing we have is the cabin—"

"There isn't time to go back!" she exclaimed. "They will upon us soon. He'll sense it. All this for nothing. For nothing." That feeling of searching for something extremely important and realizing that no matter how long you persevere, you will not find it. This was what really happened at the end of story, a simple human mistake causes a catastrophe. If don't try to save the world, you can't be responsible for getting everyone killed.

"It's not our fault! We did everything right! It had to belong to Casus and only the book is related and the cabin goes back that far and the—" This must be what she felt like when she had a sudden stroke of brilliance stopped talking.

"And the what?" she asked, looking up at him.

His mouth gapped like a fish. He tried but could form the words. It was as if he could almost remember what he was saying, but not quite.

"Draco? What!"

He took her small hand in his. And could not believe it. All this time. Everything they had been through to get the book and all this time it had been right there!

"The ring."

"What?'

"The family ring..." he explained slowly, repeating what he'd heard so often in off-hand conversation "Goes back to Casus Malfoy." He barely breathed.

"Of course!" she leapt up, exclaiming. "That explains…of course!" She pulled it from her finger and flung it to the floor. Taking the sword up yet again, her hair falling into her face, tiny beads of sweat gathering in her lovely forehead, she swung and brought the sound of metal on metal and screaming to the flat once again. She collapsed with effort and he caught her. The air seemed less dense, the atmosphere lifted, her eyes seemed clearer than they had in a long time. He wanted to kiss her. He had the sudden feeling it was either the first or last time he'd kiss her.

"Shall we?" John asked, putting his bottle down determinedly.

Hermione nodded. "Wait! Drink this. It will help." She handed him the vial of liquid luck. He obeyed, trusting them or recognizing it.

"Right. Me first." she nodded.

"Don't be ridiculous!" Draco rolled his eyes. Then added before she could protest. "We don't have time."

"He's right. They will sense the curse." The pair looked at him quizzically. "I told you my wife was and my...but not me, so anyway, one of you will have to…"

"I'll do it." She insisted.

"Hermione," he began.

"It should be me. If Harry's going to die, it should by someone who loves him…odd as that's sounds. And I don't want you blamed for this. Ever."

"You have to mean it." He reminded her.

"I will." He nodded, stepping back. She tried it. Harry sort of choked a little.

"Damn!" She tried again and hit his small sofa. "Sorry!" He pulled her aside, his hand around her hip.

"We don't have time. I'm sorry." And with that, thinking of every time Harry had thwarted his happiness, thinking of all the misery his birth bore, thinking of his stupid smile and how the teachers fawned over him and of Voldemort, which was Harry's fault as well.

He killed Harry Potter.

Hermione dropped her wand. John was on him in an instant.

There was an unpleasant rib cracking sound with a few compressions.

Nothing.

There was no clock, but the counting of John sounded off each terrible moment.

Nothing.

"Renerverate!" Draco tried to help, hoping to send a shock through his body. Hermione nodded encouragingly.

Nothing.

"Please, the elixir"

A breath. Wondrous, like the first breath.

"Thank God!"

"Water!" They scrambled to aid him.

"Harry?"

"Hermione?" he answered clearly.

"How do you feel?" she asked. His green eyes opened widely, shone with life.

"Better." Collective sighs of relief filled the room. There was time to hope. John brought some water as Draco picked up Hermione's wand from the floor.

No time to waste. They would be on their trail and John's potion only lasted a day. "I saw you in Diagon Alley." Draco said. "You have any friends or family in the wizarding world?"

"They won't want to see me."

"I don't care. Do you have any? Any who would be safe?" He emphasized the word.

"My son."

"Who's your son?" Hermione wondered, guessing at something Draco had not yet deduced, not by a long shot.

"You won't know him."

"Who is your son?" Draco demanded.

"Remus Lupin." He answered.

"Remus _John_ Lupin." She murmured.

The older man nodded.

"We know him." Draco said, recalling his werewolf former teacher. "He's a good man and a friend to Harry. They will all want to see you if you've got Harry. You must take him safely to the address Hermione is writing down."

Hermione hurried to do so immediately. They must leave. They must flee again. He had no idea where they would go.

At that moment, he looked down at her wand in his hand and for the first time he felt as if destiny, or maybe fate was a better word, was not only possible—it was fact. He had it within his power to do something very noble and stupid or something very, very bad.

Perhaps it was the bump on his head.

"We have to go! Now!" She scrambled to collect their things and cast him a most hurried expression.

"Hermione?" he asked calmly, turning their fate over in his hands.

"Yes?" she answered, giving him a curious look. He acted quickly, before her sharp mind to could catch up with him and she could defend herself. He raised her wand and watched her mouth open, as if in slow motion, not forming any sound.

The curse hit her squarely in the chest. She fell backwards, still.

_A/N: Review to find out what happens next, please!_


	42. Welcome Home

_A/N: As always, thanks for the reviews! They were lovely and helped so much. To get an up-date soon, be sure to leave lots of feedback, please! I hope you enjoy this chapter. It too moves quickly. As you can see, we are getting close to the end…_

_Part I: Hermione's Trap (Chapters 1-13)_

_Part II: Hogwarts (Chapters 14-22)_

_Part III: Christmas (Chapters 23-30)_

_Part IV: Not Yet Certain (Chapters 31-41)_

_Part V: A Lighter Darkness (Chapters 42-45)_

**Stolen**

Chapter 42: Welcome Home

Hermione opened her eyes with great effort, as if someone had placed a weighting spell upon her eyelids. The room around her swam a little and noises were muffled as if by a thick fog which seemed to fill the room. She found that even though she struggled, her mouth could not form words, but her parched throat made a little scratching sound.

A voice, distorted as if underwater, came close to her. Something cold touched her forehead. Concentrating very hard, willing all her energy to her limbs, she tried to leap up and run. She could not remember why she was running.

"Easy, Hermione." A soothing voice urged through a cloud of confusion. "You can't move just now, so there's no point in trying. You're safe here."

She eased a little at that melodic rising and falling of the low tones. A hint of familiarity was in the voice, in some scent close to her. A sweet sip of water trickled down her throat and though she coughed, she swallowed it happily. It cramped a little going down, being so delightfully cold. Her body surrender to exhaustion or to whatever magic had been placed on her for presumably her own good.

She dreamed she was walking through Malfoy Manor garden. She thought it might be winter because everything was black, the way it went so lifeless one began to believe nothing would ever be green again. It was very quiet too, and every small branch that popped underfoot, every shifting stone, echoed. The hedges looked rugged.

It went on and on, the fountain always in sight but never getting any closer. The Manor never came into view either. The air was not cold. It was not warm. There was no breeze or bright sunlight. It was one grey cloud overhead. There was not even any scent in the air. Strange.

At first, walking in the garden was relaxing, but the longer she went without seeing life, without hearing anyone, the more sinister it grew. Not dangerous, just vast and empty. On and on with only silence and blackness and feigned death.

As she rounded a hedge, Hermione felt a hand tug hers and she was pulled to her knees. She found herself at Harry's side. Green eyes sparkling brilliantly, he hushed her and pointed through an uninviting gap in the bush through which she could not see. Ron appeared and crouched on her other side. He was carrying massive longbow.

"This will get him, Harry." Ron smiled widely with glee.

"Get who?" Hermione asked. Harry pressed his finger to his lips. Ron looked through their spy hole, but Hermione, even pushing him aside, was still unable to see. She blew her hair from her eyes in frustration.

"Not Porthos!" she exclaimed in a harsh whisper, remembering the poor, blind bear that had once frightened her.

Ron handed his friend the bow, ignoring Hermione. "You best take the shot, mate."

"He's harmless." She grabbed, Harry's arm.

"Hermione's he's a killer." Ron told her, looking at her as if she had gone daft.

Harry aimed and fired through the hole before she could stop him. She instantly covered her mouth to stop herself from crying out. Tears burned their way to her eyes and welled there at the terrible moan the animal gave, hit.

She scrambled around the hedge towards it, ignoring her friend's cries and blowing the maze of greenery out of her path. When she came to the clearing, she stopped cold. There, in the center was the fountain, water overflowing and covering the ground. Heaped on the ground she did not find Porthos, but a figure wearing dark clothes of fine quality. Blonde hair disheveled. Face contorted in pain. Body trebling. Blood pouring out onto the stones, blossoming out in the water.

"Draco!" she cried to him. He could not speak. He collapsed.

She tried to run forward but found as she did, she moved backwards instead. Her friends stared at her as if she were losing her mind. They stood there, dumbly, doing nothing.

"Harry! Ron! Please. He's human for god's sake! You can't just hunt him like an animal."

The figure, looking more like a heap of clothes than anything, remained motionless, but the water, rather pink with blood, rose the base of the hedges, and things—first the dried vines wrapping wildly around the fountain— began to bloom for the first time.

Hermione heard herself scream.

"Hermione! It's alright." A hand pushed her down, but she could not be contained. Why wasn't anyone doing anything? "Hermione, stop." It commanded. Another body entered the room hurriedly and took her shoulders in its large, warm hands. The voice, the one from before, spoke again.

"It's just a dream. Here, have this. You'll feel better." Remus Lupin extended a piece of chocolate.

"Where's Draco?"

Lupin and Tonks exchanged glances. "We do not know. He disappeared." Lupin informed her.

"But why would he—"

"Is it possible that he has returned to their side?"

"No! He couldn't, he—"

"Alright, calm down."

"But no, you have to believe me, Draco—" the panic of her dream, still fresh, resurfaced.

"If you say Draco can be trusted, then Draco can be trusted unless and until he proves otherwise." The man gave her a serious look, sitting down. She relaxed a little. He placed a careful hand on his now wife. Her cheeks were glowing as if she'd been working rather hard and just recently stopped. The now rainbow-haired woman let out a long breath from her seat by Hermione.

"What's happened? How long was I asleep?" the younger witch rushed out.

"I'm going to go get some tea." Tonks mumbled, acting rather uncharacteristically quiet. Hermione noticed her stomach protruding like she had swallowed a large melon. There was an awkward pause.

Lupin attempted a small, sad smile. "I'll explain everything," he promised. "But first, I have to thank you, Hermione."

"Thank me for what?" she blinked. She had no idea what he was talking about and did not really care, not with everything that must be going on.

"Since James and Lilly, well, I haven't had family. Not really. Then, Harry and Sirius walked back into my life. Sirius was killed. Now I have Tonks, and she's about to have a child. She's been in labor a few hours now and had some potions for the cramps, but she wouldn't leave your side until you woke up. Harry is supposed be godfather, but when he fell ill.. and we thought…I don't know what you did or how you did it, Hermione, but you brought him back to us. And you brought my father."

Oh. John. Of course, she mentally slapped herself for being so self-centered.

"I haven't seen him in ages." Lupin began, "When he tried and failed to help me, to save me, from what I am, well, he could not handle it. The money he spent in experiments and trying to find a cure, in scams, then the money he spent on alcohol after… He lost his practice. He made sure he had the money to let me finish school, but that was all there was. Almost as soon as I finished, my mother died, and he more or less disappeared.

"I always thought he was afraid of me," He continued. "Being a muggle himself. And he's seen me at my worst. I'd…hurt him. I thought he blamed me for the worry that sickened my mother, but he was ashamed. He thought he'd failed me. And all this time, he's been in London.

"He's a drunk; I know that." He gave her an uncharacteristically shrewd look, as if to warn he was in no danger of becoming naïve. "It won't be easy, but potions will help and Snape has agreed to assist there. He'll have the best here with us. I have hope. I know it may not work out, but I'm in Sirius's home." He looked around him, incredulous.

"Harry is in the kitchen, talking," he laughed, "standing! And you're back safely." He smiled at her fondly. "I'm going to be a father and my father is here to see it." His eyes welled proudly.

"I'm so glad things have turned around for you." She replied honestly. "You so deserve it."

"I know I may not live through the battle that is about to happen. I know many of us may not. But I, I'm so happy, I don't care." He laughed, his eyes glistening. She felt her own throat tighten with emotion and not feeling this slightest bit shy, she leaned forward across the warm bed she was safely cradled in and hugged her former Defense against the Dark Arts professor.

"I'm so glad I haven't missed anything." She admitted. He looked at her.

"Well, I'm not sure you're quite fit enough to—" she pulled back, ready to fight him on this one.

The door opened and Harry entered, carrying a tea tray. A thin boy of average height with messy black hair and green eyes. He was completely unspectacular, really. But his appearance was so astounding to her, it was as if the red sea had parted before her eyes.

"Feeling better?" he grinned.

"Are you?" she asked him.

"Harry, she has had quite an ordeal," his mentor began warningly.

"Remus," Harry interrupted him. "You are needed elsewhere rather urgently."

"Remus!" Tonks called.

"Is there anything I can do?" Hermione sprang forward with excitement.

"Rest!" he demanded, shutting the door behind before he rushed off down the hall. She could hear Mrs. Weasley fussing and was glad she would be saved that for the time being, as the woman had more pressing matters.

"Harry, tell me what's happening!" She commanded at once.

"Oh wow, nice to see you too, Hermione."

"Shut up. You know I love you. You must explain what I've missed."

"Well," he lowered his voice and she was blissfully transported to that world that was hers, had been hers since their first year. The world of her friends who had become her family. Of unquestioned loyalty and boundless valor. In this world, she was absorbed by a purpose so important, so vital, that she barely had room for selfish fear for herself and those around her. Harry sped through the synopsis of what had happened since she had 'died' and how badly they had missed her, then how he fell so sick. He picked back up in detail where her memory cut off.

"So Malfoy Manor burned to the ground and Harry Potter went missing. It stayed out of the public for a few hours, but it was soon out in the open and people started to panic. Not long after, there were rumors I was dead and rumors I was better. Voldemort went into hiding, having contact with very few. Snape said he has weakened and is desperate to locate his horcruxes and kill me. He must at least suspect what we have done.

"All communication in and out of Hogwarts was halted to keep the rumors, and the truth, contained. Those at the ministry were struggling to keep things from getting out of hand…"

"People must really be panicked!"

Harry nodded, looking grim. "They believed taking me and burning Malfoy Manor was an attack on Voldemort and the Death Eaters or, according to them, purebloods everywhere. They spread propaganda about resistance movements risking 'your children's lives' by attacking Hogwarts. They retaliated.

"It was bad. It's all over the muggle news."

"What happened?"+

"Trains derailed." She winced. "But that was the beginning," he went on in disgust. "The emergency responding vehicles had been taken over by Death Eaters, some in disguise some using imperious curse. It was a trap. The trains had been systematically located. It was brilliant really. They contained the muggle friends and family of wizards, mostly in the ministry or other places of influence as well as hundreds of others muggles. Over a thousand were killed. Hundreds are missing."

"Oh my g—"

"There are rumors— purposefully circulated by Voldemort, Snape says—that it was Draco's plan."

"Harry," she struggled. "He—he can't." But the truth was she had no idea where Draco had gone. No idea what happened really.

"Snape says he may have been thrown into Azkaban, but he can't say for certain." Harry was quick to add. "Either way, we really don't have much time to find out. It's about to happen, Hermione. We have no choice in the matter to even say when or where. We only know that Voldemort will arrive if he believes I am there. In that, we have the advantage."

She nodded knowingly, then said, "People will only be able to take so much tension, confusion, before they do something rash. And with families, children, being out of contact…"

He nodded.

There was moment of silence.

"Harry, I'm so sorry for what I had to do. Lying to you, k—"she couldn't say it—"hurting you."

"Hermione, you destroyed the Horcruxes. You saved me. And somehow, you escaped the Malfoys, even got one to help you." He shook his head, laughing humorlessly. "You don't owe anyone an apology. I'm sorry you had to do it. It, it was my burden."

"Harry, how many times do we have to tell you? It's not all about you. We're friends. We share."

He smiled and something happened she never thought possible. She felt eleven again.

"Harry," George Weasley opened the door, then stopped. "Hermione!"

"Hi." She offered.

"You're up!" he beamed.

"George, what is it?" Harry reclaimed his attention and his expression and tone change to one of business. Hermione noticed for the first time that her best friend seemed older.

"You had better come hear this…"

Harry got up and went at once down the hall. George went to her side and helped her from the bed.

"Thanks." She offered, leaning on his tall shoulder. He smelled pleasantly of peppermint.

"My pleasure." He smirked as he wrapped an arm around her and helped her subtly down the stairs and hallway to the room where the Order had always met. They entered the kitchen of Grimmauld Placed to find it positively filled with people, all shaking their heads darkly and looking downcast. Some nervous. Silence hung on the air.

"You just missed it." Bill Weasley informed them.

"What?" Harry asked, but no one wanted to answer.

"What happened?" His voice rose.

"Voldemort has demanded you," Mr. Weasley explained "In exchange for re-opening Hogwarts and releasing his muggle prisoners."

"He's come out of hiding." He breathed with a hint of relief no one seemed to catch.

"Just to deliver the message." Mr. Weasley nodded.

Moments later, Fred burst through the doors carrying a small scrap of parchment with some sort of code written on it.

"Ginny sends word from Snape!" he panted. Hermione wondered at her friend's bravery and brilliance as she watched her family beam proudly. "She says that according to Snape, Voldemort has no intention of keeping his word and that his men are, at this moment, trying to eliminate or overpower any student who will not fight under him. And word is he has already killed and imprisoned several of the muggle hostages at Azkaban."

There were moans gasps and exclamations from many she recognized and several she did not. There was no time for that.

"Then he's made himself vulnerable." She announced and everyone turned to her in surprise. She went on, "He's let everyone know Harry's alive. That's got to be something. That's got to give some people out there hope."

"But if we tell others he's alive," Kingsley warned, "That puts him in danger."

Harry shook his head. "I'm already in danger. Hermione's right. They need hope or someone is going to snap."

They nodded in agreement.

"And he looks scared." Hermione added. "They have to know he can't be completely true to his word. Or at least suspect it."

"We need to earn their trust, now more than ever." Harry said.

"It won't take long after a message like that for a panic to ensue and someone to get hurt," said Kingsley.

"This battle won't be a time or place of choosing. We have to be ready." Mr. Weasley stood.

Groups assembled themselves and began conversing and debating various plans of action. A few people came and went in their preparations. The air remained thick with anticipation evenly mixed of dread and hope. Every time a broadcast changed or a door opened, all talking hushed. There was a tense moment of expectation, a small collective sigh, and things gradually returned to the way they had been. Sandwiches were passed around and passed over. Cups of tea were limitless—quite literally.

Harry and Hermione sat together, scarcely speaking, and eagerly awaited news—good news from upstairs and the news that was sure to come from the outside world. It did not take long. Within the hour, news broke of disturbance in Diagon Alley.

"It is unclear what started it, but someone got into a dispute and hexed another person at Gringotts bank, which has closed its doors," the reported said. Great, several people exchanged looks at the third reason to make people tense. The bank is shut down. They can't reach their money or their children.

The reporter continued almost excited, but also dismayed. "Anger and fear spread like a dragon fire and fights broke out among strangers in the halls of the bank, then the streets of Diagon and Knockturn Alley. It's disorder, impossible to tell who is fighting who, just one angry mass wrecking havoc and tearing apart everything in its path. Tension has just become too high it seems…chaos." The sounds of curses and snapping and breaking of objects they struck, of shouts and feet hurrying, were in the background.

"It is the question in many people's minds if Harry Potter were truly the savior of the people…why doesn't he turn himself over to Dark Lord and end this terror…" the man said. Heads in the room snapped quickly towards Harry. He did not seem affected the way they expected. He was frowning in concentration. Something in the man's voice had changed. Became lifeless.

"Harry…" his voice was almost inaudible in the bedlam and static. It seemed to struggle against itself. "Harry…Potter…don't—" Their connection with the fighting at Diagon Alley was lost.

Owls were coming in quickly. An emergency meeting was being called at the ministry; it was time to make a move politically. Peace at Diagon Alley would have to wait.

"Harry," Hermione whispered. "Draco might be there." He nodded.

"And Hogwarts will be next. Our children." Mr. Weasley rose, thinking of his youngest son and daughter.

They looked to Harry. He looked to Hermione. "We have to get, Ron. We have to do this together."

She nodded, though it was not easy to let go. Ron's location was certain. They had to stay together.

"I can get us in to Hogwarts." Hermione asserted.

Harry took charge. "From there we can spread word to the professors, Snape, the Dumbledore's Army. We'll need a diversion for the Death Eaters. Something to draw them to one place."

"I can tell Ginny!" Fred volunteered and leapt into action.

"Everyone who works at the ministry needs to go there. Use all influence and contacts they have. People need to know that I am alive. And that I am coming. I'm not going to abandon them. It's time for them to chose."

Kingsley, Arthur, and two others nodded, standing.

"But we'll lose the element of surprise!" Someone protested in a voice which clearly said it was stupid and foolhardy. "Voldemort will be waiting!"

"He'll be waiting at a place we chose. Away from Hogwarts. That's what's important." Harry turned to Hermione and said only to her, "As soon as they are assembled and we have Ron, we go to Diagon Alley."

She shook her head. "It's only a possibility. We need to go to Azkaban, help as many muggles escape as possible while security is pre-occupied elsewhere."

"Are you sure?"

She nodded bravely, but could not speak. She might vomit.

"Then as soon as we give the word we need everyone else to go to Azkaban to try and release prisoners—"

"But 'Arry," Fleur stopped him, speaking up for the first time. "Won't that be risky? What if the wrong people are released and how will we repair all the memories the same?"

"She's right." Another ministry member agreed. "That will be a job for the new Minister of Magic."

"But then they will have to stay there until the election is complete!" Hermione felt a panic she could not explain rip through her.

The door flew up yet again and Molly Weasley entered, all smiled, her face matching her hair. "It's a boy!" her joy filled the silent room. "What's happened?"

They moved quickly, but not until they received word things were prepared. The moments ticked by as they admired the tiny hands and grey eyes of the newly arrived Lupin child. Savoring such joy, such newness, while willing every moment to pass so that you may at last dive headfirst into the most dreaded event of your life was a paradox only known in war.

The baby's warmth filled Hermione's arms as she hugged him to her chest when Fred entered to announce, "Neville and Luna have managed the distraction with the help of Hagrid. All the professors and Snape are assembling the students who are prepared to fight. The younger ones are being snuck out by the DA."

Lupin insisted on coming and they did not have the time to fight him on it. Molly Weasley demanded her place was with her children. The more wands the better, Harry supposed, giving in too easily. Hermione suspected something.

Straight away, they were in the streets of London, and then they were in Hogwarts again. They met Ron and Ginny almost immediately as they had been watching for their dots to appear on the map. The group exchanged tight hugs in the familiar corridor, tense with anticipation and secrecy.

"The last of the younger ones are being evacuated. Flitwick created carpets for them to speed away on with disillusionment charms." Ginny reported.

"What's the plan?" Harry asked.

"The Death Eaters are being led into the forest by Neville and Luna who were 'caught'. They are on a wild goose chase for Harry Potter. We fed the Junior Death Eater brats some false information about the DA having him." Ginny said.

"Snape managed to break them down in interrogation." Ron smiled.

"Hagrid's got a surprise or two awaiting them." Ginny joined in. Harry's eyes were on her with something between concern and admiration. Hermione recognized it; she'd seen it before. It was respect.

The group began to walk quickly to the Great Hall, nervousness swelling inside them as the moment grew closer, ready to break open like a storm cloud.

"Everyone's been trained." Ron called behind him, almost excited. The air buzzed with it. Their finger tips felt its vibration. Wasn't this why they made the DA, what they trained for, why they had a class like Defense Against the Dark Arts anyway? How could it feel so….wrong? "The professors alone can establish hundreds of protective measures. And then there's the castle itself!" The staircases moved anxiously. The portraits were scarcely more than blurred moving figures.

"Ron, they need them to see me." Harry said. They halted in their tracks. "All of them. They need them to see me and to tell their families I'm alive. And then we need to leave."

"Leave? We can't leave them to fight for themselves after—"

"We must."

"He's right." Hermione intervened. "Some of their parents have been taken. Others will want their children to turn Harry over to Voldemort to save themselves. We want to calm the panic. It's our most powerful tool." Not understanding, the others nodded.

Orders were being given in the Great Hall to sea of short heads—students and houselves. Their commanded turned and smiled at Harry and Hermione fondly.

"Hello, professor."

"Welcome home."

A great noise shook the walls around them. "Not to worry. We are perfectly safe in here!" She shouted to the students. They hushed as Harry stood on the table before them.

"Hi, mates." Hermione smiled proudly. "You remember me, most of you. I know I haven't been well, but that's because of something Voldemort had, a weapon. We've destroyed it. That's why he's panicking. That's why he's cut off communication and demanded my life in exchange for those he's taken prisoner."

There were gasps by some, but mostly just unsurprised dark expressions.

"But I know that you are not going to give in to him. Because a few years ago we stood in this hall while a great man stood right there—" he pointed at Dumbledore's spot. "A man Voldemort feared, and told us how we had to honor the memory of Cedric. Voldemort killed Cedric. And he killed my parents. We cannot change the harm he's done, but we can stop him from killing more. But we have to stick together. Isn't that what we learned the whole time we were here?

"Is there anyone in your house who wouldn't fight for you? Any teacher who would not jump in front of a hex for you? Even Professor Snape tried to save me, and we know how friendly we are." People laughed a little at that.

"That's what we have that they don't. We can trust each other. You can trust me. You know me. I'm Harry," he shrugged. "Just Harry."

Hermione noticed her eyes weren't the only ones watering.

"But there's something they have that we don't yet." He paused and everyone's head shot up in attention. "Something that they have realized that none of us have. Don't you see why he's keeping you quiet? Why he is trying to make us panic and turn on each other? Why he wants me so badly?"

There was silence and hopeful eyes, wide with horror, looking up at him.

"He's afraid because he's realized…we can win this."

A small voice in the crowd began to chant and it spread like a roll of thunder across the hall. The little Creavey boy and Dobby on his shoulders, smiling widely, started it, and it grew until it was a roar one could probably hear from anywhere in the castle. "Harry! Harry! Harry!"

And Harry, shaking his head, punched his fist into the air and shouted instead: "HOGWARTS! HOGWARTS! HOGWARTS!" There was a cry, loud and beautiful. A brilliant flame of feathers soared into the Hall into the rising cries of the students and teachers, Fawkes. He would protect them.

Harry stepped down and addressed his closest with orders, his voice much less confident than a few moments ago. "Ron you are coming with us. Mrs. Weasley and Lupin, you stay here. They need you and they trust you. I have no doubt he'll attack or his men will resist. Hogwarts must be safe. It's more than a school."

They silently agreed. A few one armed hugs, a kiss on the head here and there, and they were running from the castle to the edge of the grounds. Running as fast as they could. Hearing the rugged breaths above all else, wind in their ears. Sides tugging painfully. Ground blurring around them. Behind them when they stopped: a glimpse of lights, red and green, at the castle.

Diagon Alley was soundless, empty and utterly torn apart. Glass in shards. A few bodies heaped here and there. Wood, ash, splinters, wood chips all askew and bloodstained and burned. Papers and feathers fluttering in the air, littering the streets. Carts overturned. Herbs spilled. Clothes on the breeze catching on awnings and roofs. They were late.

There was a moment where the friends stopped in the empty street, the image seared into their memories of the streets where they once bought their first wands, their beloved pets laid to waste by the wild, raging animal that was fear. Vandalism alone illuminated the ruined walls: "Help Us, Harry!" "Fight Harry!" and "Save the Children-Kill the Chosen One!" Ron spoke into the quiet which seemed to echo with chaos of moments before. "We have to go to the ministry. They will need our help to regain power. Once they know we have Hogwarts and Harry is alive, people won't be too afraid to stand up."

"But the muggles at Azkaban!" Hermione pled.

"They won't want them released without their memories being modified." Harry said. "We can't help them yet, but if we regain control of the ministry we can help them later."

She knew that of course, but was trying to buy time to figure a way around it. "But those people. How will we protect them? And Voldemort will suspect you are at the ministry. He'll have an upper hand there."

Harry waivered. "It's up to you, Hermione. What you think is best."

And in that moment she knew she must chose for everyone. "The Ministry of Magic."

_A/N: What did you think of this and what do you think is next? Let me know in a __**review**__! As for the baby, that was taken from the final book for consistency and because I deeply desired a fair ending for Remus..0 The rest is my original end. The chances of the major fighting taking place in one location is unnatural, and I'm just trying to make it as realistic as possible. Warning: it will not be the same as the 7__th__ book's end!_


	43. In the Darkness

_A/N: Thanks so much to all who continue to read and review! Here's a shorter chapter. Hope you like it._

**Stolen**

Chapter 43: In the Darkness

There was window, and a lighter darkness there. Sometimes, he allowed himself to sit in it. But only sometimes.

It was a reprieve from the mindless chill, the repetition of suffering and then, worse, the suffering of repetition, but to pull away from their grasp, further himself from their hovering rags gliding ever backwards and forwards, backwards and forwards—to feel the cool and angry mist brush his face—was Heaven!

When he was there, the harsh breath of the outside world assaulting him, he could feel through the cold and see past the bitter memories. Only when he could take it no longer. Only when for many hours he had trembled, wept, rocked attempting to endure the memories he was drowning in…

_Mother! _

"Mother, where are you now?" He asked aloud with no one to speak to. No one at all. Not a single touch to his skin in so long save the rags and the stones and the wind. "You're sleeping somewhere deep within the tunnels. Ashes now. All ashes. Black now, and windblown like me. Forgotten. Disappeared from the earth." Did they even exist now? He had died too. How had he died? He had forgotten. Oh yes he felt as though he was…

…drowning.

Another pass, a glimpse of sanity, a gap in the cold. He could see and feel and smell brown hair. Brown eyes. Memory of peculiar warmth, and he let it wrap around him like a blanket. Clung to it.

_Kiss me. Taking her small wrists in his cold hands. Kiss me. She had. Fireworks twirling overhead. A room by the sea…powder blue and garnet…Then a storm nearing the ledge where they perched. A storm ripping across the beach. A storm drumming outside as they tore away at each other._ _His blood stained the floor._

This too was a form of torture, but sometimes he longed to remember it anyway. All the past came and went in splinters and fragments and muddled itself with his dreams and nightmares. As he grew weaker, it became difficult to know when his mind was lying to him.

Certainly, there was a faint roar outside all the mad murmurs and pleading and wails and hours of the most pathetic silence. Silence like the abandoned halls of Hogwarts. Shadows only. Shadows of the Heir of Slytherin. Shadows of his own life there. Shadows cast by an old castle upon a back lake.

"_If the monster killed a girl before, then it's only a matter of time before it kills another. As for me, I hope its Granger."_

The same hallway, a few years later his own voice pleaded inside his head: "P_lease, just let Granger be alright."_

_The sick breath of a Nundu pressing close upon their backs. Strange cry of an Irish Phoenix. Rain pouring. A smile._

"Please," he said to emptiness. "Let Granger be alright!"

Time passed this way for so long he could no longer remember time. He could not remember his name nor how he came to be there. He could not remember deciding that he would no longer entertain this vain fantasy of running forever with her. He would instead return her to safety, to where she belonged, but for a very long time, he could not remember this either.

"Take her with you," he had instructed John once Hermione was unconscious. With her wand, he cast a spell to lighten their figures and then one to tie them to the older man with invisible ropes and then a disillusionment spell to disguises their floating bodies. Then, he safely tucked Hermione's wand away in her pocket and without thinking took her hand. It was bare. The ring, the lie that they were somehow to be together, somehow linked, was a slight imprint around her finger and he knew that in time that would go away.

Collecting only what he required, he apparated. It was one thing for the others, the Order, who were returning to their home. He had destroyed his. He had other responsibilities, loyalties which could not be so easily dismissed, questions he could not leave un-answered. He could not go with them. Not yet. First, he had to see if there was any chance.

The falcons fluttered nervously in the shack as he disturbed them. As did his insides, his heartbeat. The smoke was on the wind still, and a great mass in the distance smoldered. Some of the garden had burned as well. The hounds still baying filled the estate in the distance. Everything else was being enveloped in night and an eerie silence.

As he approached his home, alone with long legs shaking, the stirring of small figures became apparent on the horizon.

"Master Malfoy!" Knobby gasped. The elf ran to him, looking up anxiously with wide and teary eyes. "Master Malfoy! What do we do now?" And a number of them turned to him with similar expressions, their home too burned to the ground. They turned to him holding a tea kettle or a mop, wearing a tea cozies, trembling. He was their master now, and just as they were bound to serve him, he was bound to protect them and provide a roof for them.

Draco sighed. He had nothing to offer them. "Things are going to dangerous for a while." He announced. Then honestly, "I don't know what's going to happen."

They waited. Oversized faces expectant.

"You are free to go. When things clear up, if you'd like to return, you will of course be welcome." There was no other option, after all. He turned to the rubble. To what they may return, he was not sure. If he would ever return and to what he did not know either. Someone pulled the bottom of his coat.

"Pardon me master, but you've given us no clothes, sir." Knobby notified him tentatively.

Well, damn. He could not take care of them and he certainly could not free them without giving them clothes. There would certainly be nothing left in the expanse of ash and debris before him. It was no longer cold out, so not knowing what else to do he removed his coat and handed it to Knobby, stopping half way and examining it. He ripped a shoulder off and handed it to the elf next to him. Then another shoulder, and handed it to another. The remainder of the jacket went to Knobby.

Behind them, several more elves waited. He frowned and rummaged through his pockets. He handed out his handkerchief then removed his watch. Still there were more before him. He took off his shirt, then removed his shoes one at a time. Then his socks. The belt from his pants. A shirtless Draco stood in the darkness of his own yard looking down at a single remaining elf. "That's alright, master."

"What is your name, elf?"

"Pip, sir."

And Draco stuffed his hands in pants pockets finding nothing, but his finger brushed against his other and he, having no other choice but to go about naked, removed his birthday ring—finding himself missing it very sorely— and gave it to the tiny creature.

"Here you are, Pip. That is a very important ring. Hermione Granger—"

"How DARE you speak that filthy mudblood's name on THESE grounds!" a voice roared, making him jump.

"Go!" he commanded the free elves, though some of them hesitated finding themselves shocked that they were not bound to obey. "GO!" he insisted and a curse hit him squarely in the chest, twirling him in the air and knocking him to the ground several feet behind.

"Father?" he coughed, hopeful. A shadow appeared through the darkness, and then two more on its side. Massive shadows.

"Your father is dead." They confirmed his fears. He let his head fall back to the ground and lay there a moment, stunned and dizzy. "Expeliarmus." Still dazed, he was unable to stop the spell and he found himself cold with fear, half clothed, and at their feet, utterly at their mercy.

"Where are they?" The brother demanded in a low voice which was soft and dangerous.

"Who?" He heard a boy's voice, a voice from years ago fearfully reply.

"Harry Potter and your mudblood whore." One of them sneered, prodding him with his own wand.

He could give them up and perhaps save himself, but if he did that, they would have no chance to escape this reign. No chance at all. And if he could hold for a just a little while, someone would come to help, or the Dark Lord would be defeated and they would be forced to flee. Did he have the strength to endure the pain until then? The pain due to a traitor?

"You have no idea what joy it would give me to see their bodies laid out." His cousin spoke softly. "Their blood emptied. Stiff. White. Eyes vacant and staring up into nothingness. You used to share that dream, Draco. You used to be a man."

"I used to be a man," he repeated. "A man of hate."

"And what are you now?" he spat, vicious. "A scared child. Naked." They laughed at him. "A Traitor!"

"No!"

He was interrupted by a thrill of horror and a few long seconds of unbearable pain which caused him to bite a large portion of the inside of his mouth. Gasping for breath, spitting blood, he considered giving them up. He was weak and afraid. But he knew that was impossible. He had asked Hermione to write down the address and give it John. He had not followed or even seen the direction in which he headed. He did not know if he could bear what awaited him if discovered, did not know if he could abandon his family, reject the kind of offers the Dark lord could make. He still did not know what he would truly be when it came down to it, and wanted to make sure there was no way he would ever have to find out. In a way, there was no pressure. In another way, there was no hope.

"We will find out." They promised him. "One way or another." They raised their wands.

"You cannot." He told them, both sick and satisfied with himself. "They did not show me the address. I couldn't help you even if I wanted to. I made sure of that. Even if you gave me a truth potion or read my mind, I do not know where they are."

"DAMN!"

"Then we have no reason to keep you alive."

So it began— the torture. He could not breathe. He fell the ground, pulling up the grass, struggling, feeling himself grow light headed and dizzy. His lungs pleading with him to inhale. His hounds struggling to get to him, barking furiously, was hexed aside with a yelp. Air came in a delicious rush and was taken away. Again and again it continued, each time longer as if testing his limits or trying to increase his endurance.

They did not spare his blood. He grew weak with the loss of it. His ears rang with his own screams until they too ached. What else they did to him, and they did unthinkable things, he body and his mind tried very hard to put away immediately.

It may have been days or it may have been hours before they were disrupted by urgent and fearful voices, before wizards began to apparate onto the ground and preoccupy his tormentor's wands. He was too weak to engage or to flee. Too confused to protest as the man rounding up his relatives grabbed him by the hair and attempted to identify him.

His face was unrecognizable. Bruised, bloodied, scabbed, and scared. A man in uniform robes leaned over him, his large nose pressed close to Draco's.

"Let's see, what's your wand says then?" The ministry official eagerly grabbed it. Of course, the last three curses were killing curses—Harry Potter, his father, missing his father. As they arrested him with the others, he felt himself cry out Potter's name and beg them to call him, to call Snape, to call anyone. He was not the enemy.

"That mark on your arm says different, my boy."

'Oh yes, the irony,' he thought. 'The mark remains.' The ministry man shoved him into a train car which was very cold. With horror, he realized why.

He could not remember, very soon afterwards, if he had actually been able to scream at all. And he could not later recall feeling happy that she was gone even though he already missed her, but he had.

Since that terrible time, he had gone, though he could not say how or when, in the darkness until he could no longer recall the names of his pets, or his enemies. Nor the magic he'd learned, or his favorite foods, or the girl he dreamed about. He could not remember the story of Casus Malfoy. He could not remember his own story. He was plagued with strange feelings until he abandoned them in exchange for the solace of feeling nothing, expect during the fleeting moments in which he allowed himself to explore memories he hardly recognized in haphazard flashes. Allowing himself the breeze in the lighter darkness and the brown warmth pleasantly curled up in his mind that he had once felt such fierce emotion towards—emotion he could no longer decipher.

But he could remember the way he had felt once, long after he could no longer feel anything human. He held on to that, even after he was not sure it had ever been real. He repeated words he did not know he was saying; he did not know what they meant.

And after a time—he could not say how long—they took him from that place in chains, like a dog. The cold and shadows came with them into a place that was too bright and loud. They took him and shoved him into a room where faces stared, strange faces he did not know. They spoke words he did not understand about things he did not know and waited on answers he could not give. He told them. He told them over and over again all he knew.

They simply shook their heads.

In frustration, he screamed against the bars and chains and something hurt him. He leapt in surprise. How wonderful it was to feel again. The filth and cold not numbing one's skin. Warm blood pouring down his arm. How pleasant.

They prodded him. Their voices assaulted him, making him twist uncomfortably. Writhing, he called out for help, voice strangled. Was this it? Was he to be killed now for something…he could not recall…if he had done it or not. Probably he had. He felt he must have done something very bad.

Through the darkness and the cold, through the vast shadow of his memory, he glimpsed something familiar and warm.

_A/N: Is that where you thought Draco was? How different is this ending from the book and what you expected?_

_I know this chapter was very short, but it could not be helped. The next chapter will have to be rather longer than I'd like too, but I hope you're enjoying it._

_Please review and let me know what you think of what just happened or is about to happen! _

_Only two chapters left to go…_


	44. A Pale Reflection

_A/N: I am so excited about this chapter and a lot happens so please spare a few second to leave a review. Thanks for reading!_

**Stolen**

Chapter 44: A Pale Reflection

It would be years before the Wizarding World could forget what happened when Harry Potter arrived at the Ministry of Magic. Of course, it would always be remembered, but for years it would be more than that—it would be impossible to go a day without thinking of it, without sensing how incredibly close they all came to another world entirely. Parents would hug their children close for no reason other than a sudden memory of that battle. A cold wind would blow goose pimples across their skin as they walked Diagon Alley, as though a ghost were passing though them, as they remembered the photographs of its wreckage, and it would be real to them how close they came to losing everything.

The reverence they gave Harry Potter was unnerving those who knew him well, who had seen him as human. To Hermione, Harry's hand trembling on hers and his eyes glassy with tears would be how she forever saw him on that day as they entered the ministry to face his destiny. The destiny she had been unable to change, that his parents could not spare him, that he could not outrun.

The halls of the Ministry of Magic were packed with people, and they pushed through unnoticed at first. These men and women, the law and the security of a people, its leaders, were nothing more than a fickle and impassioned mob.

Kingsley Shakelbolt stood before them on one platform, compelling and demanding the fearful and enraged before him to take up their wands in defense of their nation and way of life. Knott, a Death Eater also employed at the Ministry, stood opposite him, red in the face, savaging arguing as well, but also hurling threats of his master who would soon arrive and make anyone who defied him and his noble purpose pay more dearly than any before him. They would live forever, but their families would not be so fortunate.

Minor scuffles here and there broke out among the crowd, but no duels yet. They were waiting. Waiting for someone, anyone, to keep his word. Not long after the three friends arrived, observing the events as though they were a freakish carnival spectacle, Knott shot a curse at Kingsley who deflected it, hitting the fountain and destroying it. Water and bits of rock flew through the air, colliding with objects which shattered and people who cried out. Kingsley quickly returned it and their hexes met with a snap of sparks.

The three friends stopped the progress of hysteria and violence by making themselves apparent. A hush came over the crowd as the trio pushed their way to the front. Hermione could not help that her eyes scanned the faces for Draco. She did not find him.

Kingsley spotted Harry and there was second of hesitation. Then, the older man announced proudly, extending his hand, "Harry Potter." Harry went forward and Hermione and Ron stepped up with him, flanking him with their wands out. The people pressed their bodies together to get close to the boy who lived.

"He did not ask to be alive." Kingsley reminded the mass, his deep voice rolling over them. "He did not ask to be the Chosen One, but here he is. He could have run and hid, but he chose not to abandon you. Now who will do the same for him?"

"I Will!" shouted Mr. Weasley, raising his wand from the back of the crowd. Some turned, some murmured, and some raised their wands as well, following his declaration with a chorus. Some were older, friends of Dumbledore. Some were family of Hogwarts students. Some were members of the Order. Some were strangers, hands still shaking with uncertainty.

The moment was torn asunder by the ruckus and whoosh of fireplaces filling and a blinding rain of spells came down upon them. Death Eaters had kept their promise too, or at least clearly intended to do so. The fastest and most frightening rush of dueling commenced. Even using everything they had learned, it was infinitely confusing. Every rapid second and swift heartbeat was an inch from death, everything moving too quickly to perceive anything but light and heat and breezes. Luckily, the Death Eaters were wearing black and that helped distinguish them, but not their followers.

Ron, knowing it was his strength, turned any spell that came their way back upon its master—deflecting spells may hit someone on their side. From his height, he could spot many and catch them without hitting anyone in between. His mind, like a chess player, predicted their nest move. It was guiltless, thoughtless, hex. He had no idea what spell had hit them—they got exactly what they intended to do to others.

Hermione ran out of breath to shoot her most powerful stunning spells towards the aggressors and began to send them wordlessly to those she could safely reach. Occasionally, she lifted an object hurled at a person from their path, or knocked a death eater unconscious with a light fixture. Once angered, she erased their memories or disoriented them, rendering them relatively harmless.

Harry placed well-aimed disarming spells again and again. Agile with sharp sight, he hit many targets and although the effects were only temporary, the goal of reducing the number of casualties and the number those fighting were successful.

They remained stationary on the platform, protecting each other and dodging spells. Their presence, next to Kingsley, was like a beacon of stability and bravery to those below, watching as they too fought. A constant visual reminder that they were there, not leaving. Slowly, the number of people fighting waned from their efforts and, unfortunately, the efforts of their enemies. Some ran away, but many who tried were killed— bodies in a lumpy pile near the great fireplaces. Hermione still felt sick at the sight of their limbs protruding at impossible angles.

A white face appeared in a clutter of soulless black masks.

A smile and grimace at once, he sniffed the air like a snake through slits that were nostrils, his wicked eyes trained on Harry. Wand pointed towards him, she struggled to get her body in front of her best friend. But she could not get there in time.

The main lobby was all but deserted by then. Few people really saw what happened.

He fell as he had many times before. She saw it happen slowly. Heard herself scream as if hearing someone else. All the things one hears about, one dreads, one sees in nightmares a hundred times before they happen. But this time, he did not get up. He did not move. She did not wake up.

"_Ron, no!"_

"_What is it?"_

"_He's going to sacrifice himself!"_

"_No. You can't there must be another way!"_

"_It's you that has to go on Harry…I know it…"_

Ron.

From across the lobby, Mr. Weasley cried out like an animal fatally wounded; his grief rang over the clamor of the fighting. Hermione wiped her tears away hastily and leaned over to pull Harry away. She placed a kiss to Ronald's hair and saw from the corner of her eyes Mr. Weasley send a tremendous curse at the Death Eater that had killed his son. There was nothing left. Even his clothes became ashes, littering the already filthy floor.

Voldemort stood calmly in the center of the lobby, making his way slowly closer to them, and smiled, reveling in the pain that did not belong to him, that he had not right to witness and could never feel.

"Stop!" Harry shouted, and with all her force, Hermione Granger performed a spell which locked the hall in action, surprising herself. Those who remained were forced to halt mid-yell and watch, frozen, all but she and Harry and Voldemort.

"This is pointless, Tom." He panted, his voice pained. Still, Harry bravely insisted on using his real name, as Dumbledore had done. A wise choice, Hermione thought. The others hung on every word with hope and horror.

"No one else needs to die save one of us. That's what it comes down to, isn't it? 'Neither can live while the other survives.'" Hermione did suspect that this may not be the literal meaning of the prophecy and had little faith in the inescapability of prophecy as well, but Harry was right. They could not run in circles forever, spilling blood all the way.

Tom Riddle smiled his sickeningly smile and Hermione felt her skin crawl. She tried to suppress the shiver he would receive perverse enjoyment from—and stared him in his eyes, bizarre and inhuman holes that bore down upon them with tremendous power. "I'm glad you agree." Tom Riddle replied so politely he might have been at a garden party. "Shall we retire to somewhere a little more private?"

"If you wish." Harry agreed, tried. She could feel his fear by standing next to him, but his voice hardly waivered as the young man insisted to the powerful wizard before him, "But I want witnesses. I want everyone to see and know whatever happens here. The truth."

Something about this did not sit well with Voldemort. He resisted. Trying to push her grief from her mind, Hermione attempted to focus on what this could mean, what window of opportunity or secret was hiding in plain sight. All she could see was Ron's hand on hers…winter…Hogsmeade.

"You know, it's a shame we could not see eye to eye."

"There's no point in trying to talk me over." Harry told him plainly. "I've destroyed your Horcruxes." There were a few gasps. Voldermort's face was cold and impassive, but his jesting smile was gone.

"No matter. I can make more. You are a child. I am the greatest wizard alive. I would say this will be overly quickly, but I'm not sure I'd enjoy that." His friends laughed.

Harry Potter turned his back on Lord Voldemort, wand in pocket, and trudged into the bowels of the ministry. It was a strange turn of events, and Hermione—on his heels— was a little afraid they would kill him while his back was turned. Harry knew, instinctively somehow, that if Voldemort killed him before these witnesses, word would get out that he couldn't face Harry Potter and his martyrdom would inflame their passion, make them more dangerous.

Voldemort's tall figure all but glided swiftly after Harry, wand out. He did not look weakened yet. He looked alive and almost excited, as if finally playing a game against a worthy opponent.

The sparse remnants of the mob that was left relatively uninjured made their way, some tentatively and others urgently. The importance of the moment silently hung on air. They knew they were bearing witness to the greatest duel of their lifetime.

The room they ultimately reached was a familiar one in the department of mysteries. It was quiet and still and full of dark, cool air, more befitting Riddle than Harry, empty really, save a platform upon which stood an ancient-looking archway hung with a thin veil.

Circling in the center like predators, they paced a few minutes. Exchanging no words. It was not that there was nothing to say to one another, it was that there was too much to ever begin speaking.

Voldemort got right to the point, most people agree with that, and sent a killing curse.

He did not attempt to spare his opponent pain either and Harry withstood the ones he could not escape, of his endurance people were most admiring. For the most part, even through his inexperience, his agility and natural speed showcased in quidditch kept him safe. However, his attempts of expeliarmus were futile. The boy who lived said very little, waiting it seemed, conserving energy. She hoped he was not giving up.

But after a while, it began to seem possible. Riddle had fifty years of killing behind that wand, everything to lose, and so much anger and fuel. Harry had lost his best friend, his family, his mentor. Harry seemed to be tiring and his supporters began to edge towards to the door, maybe even flee though she was not paying close attention. Harry Potter was losing then, people would say, and everyone knew it.

And then it happened—what Harry had been waiting for.

Their wands locked, creating a string of what looked like electricity. Hot and burning and a phoenix song began. The two struggled tremendously, pushing with all their force and all their power the light towards each other. One weakened, looking sick or aged, stumbling under its massive weight, then they held a look of triumph and the other waivered. Some argue there were jeers and shouts of encouragement from the spectators. Others insist that everyone remained silent. Hermione did not remember which was true, nor any sound but that of the phoenix.

Carefully, Harry held on, circling and positioning in a way which looked haphazard. Harry said something she could not quite make out, though she believed he was speaking to Sirius. Realization hit as soon as Voldemort realized where he was positioned, but he could not move. His wand held him in place and to let it go would be to surrender his life. The most perfect look of fear filled the sick eyes of Tom Riddle, a look she would always savor the memory of, and Harry let go of the wand. It splintered, a piece lodging in the skin jest below her eye. It filled with blood, staining the image that would haunt her dreams and release her from her nightmares. Riddle was shot backwards into the veil. He passed silently from the world as Sirius had and they held a half hope that at last, that would be the last they heard from him: a yell of anger slipping backwards into the thin, white shroud. Disappeared.

They do not write about after the battle, Hermione noticed once she was at her friend's side and had mended her eye. The way people show up, timidly darting like mice, looting, photographing, staring. They do not write about the way the bodies are cramped up, blotchy, after sitting there dead for a while. They do not tell you how it's not just the inability to tell friends bodies from enemies' remains, it becomes impossible to tell bodies from rubble. The do not, perhaps, cannot describe the stench in the clouded air. The panic does not leave the knot in your chest. The grief does not lessen, and the exhaustion is so profound that you don't want to wash off the blood, or eat or drink, or even tell anyone the good news. You want to sleep. You want to sleep for months and months until everything that happened was a dream you can no longer remember.

They went home and they slept.

And two months later, Hermione still felt tired. Ron's funeral made her feel drained. The press made her feel weary. The endless search for Draco made her feel exhausted. The stagnant pool their lives had become with Riddle gone and school over made her lethargic.

Hermione found herself lying in bed and reading the lies she had printed in her diary about Draco, the dreary daily recordings through some half-remembered code. She saw the blood soaked page and shivered, reaching out to pet the crippled cat laying at her side. She remembered being frightened and later being angry, but she also remembered so much more that she had never dared write down.

She remembered storms and duels. Playing in the snow. A room of powder blue and garnet. A cold hotel room in London. Dancing in an apartment above the kitchen. She remembered watching him, tenderhearted and even weak at times, other times selfish. She remembered him saving her life. She remembered him watching television and washing dishes by hand. Changing. Not all of him, but some.

And she remembered feeling herself changing as well under the burn of his grey eyes. Remembered running away from everyone together. She was supposed to keep her emotions a calm surface, but now she realized in trying not to fall in love with him, not to feel, she had never let herself feel so much.

Her friends from the Order had given the diary to her when they became increasingly disturbed by her remaining attachment to Draco. They did not understand her determination to find him or her certainty that he was on their side. She was an enigma to them.

"It's normal," Ginny had first offered sympathetically, "To stay hung up on your first…time. Even if the guy is a cad. You don't want to dirty the memory in your mind. But Dean was my first, and the sooner I forgot him the better."

"We did not sleep together." Hermione assured her, to which Ginny shrugged.

"It's normal," Harry admitted, "to love people more after they leave you. When you miss them, it's easy to forget even the ones that made things more difficult by being here."

"Oh I know he's a pain, Harry. But I did love him even when he was a pain." Harry just frowned, deep in thought, and fell silent again.

Lupin gave her book on Stockholm Syndrome. "It was normal," the book explained, "for hostages to feel attachment to their captors after some time and even defend them. A bond is formed by a survival instinct and eventually a lack of abuse is mistaken for acts of kindness."

"He's not for you, Hermione! He's not even our side. He wasn't in the battle." Fred yelled a few weeks after Ron's funeral, taking her by the shoulders and trying to shake the sense into her.

"How can you say that? He made it possible to save Harry!"

"He killed him."

"So we could bring him back and he sent him to safety when he could have handed him over!"

"So where is he now then? The war has been over for months. Where was he during the final battle and why hasn't he contacted you?"

"Maybe something's happened to him. Maybe he's in Azakaban. The ministry has no idea which prisoners are theirs and which are Voldemorts deifiers and captives!"

"Fred, let go." Harry demanded gently.

He released her, looking hurt. "Why are you doing this? Over _him." _Of course he was hurt; she was disrespecting the memory of his brother who had, in his mind, been so devoutly in love with her.

She did not try to explain. He would never understand. She was still the Hermione they knew, but she had also become someone else as well. As long as she had waited and much as she had tried to come back to what they were and the life they had, and she had been overjoyed at first to return, she found there was no going back entirely. It was a bit like trying to fit in your favorite dress after she had outgrown it. Of course, you would keep it anyway, but it would never be worn again. Maybe she'd wear one like it, but she had grown. It was not quite right anymore.

Harry did not understand how she felt, but he seemed to understand what she needed. "If you think he's out there, then we won't stop looking until we find to what has happened to him." He promised.

Months passed. No sign of Draco. Letters, missing posters, Death Eater interrogations, retracing their old haunts. Hermione interrogated Lupin's father dozens of times.

"All he said was to take you and Harry to the address. He left. That's all."

And that was the last time, it seemed, anyone had seen him.

She worked tediously away at any leads. It wasn't just love—real or imagined—that drove her to find him. It was anger that he would just disappear. It was fear that he had saved her life and she had been unable to even save his memory. Most of all, it was deep and desperate, urgent need to prove to herself and everyone else that all her memories and feelings and the young man she remembered were real. She needed to know, as it began to fade from her memory, that she was not mad.

"The war is over Hermione." Fred tried to convey as they sat by the fire in Grimmauld place one night after dinner. "How well did you really know him? And considering how you mastered disguise, will you find if he doesn't want to be found? Would you even know him now, if you passed him in the street?"

"I'd know." She insisted. He shook his head, disappointed, and dropped the subject, giving her arm a comforting rub.

Kingsley approached her a few months after the battle while the ministry was finally getting back on its feet and Hogwarts was preparing to welcome new students.

"It's a bloody mess." He said. "Of course they wanted to release the muggles straight away, but it was damn near impossible to tell which ones were Voldemort's captives and which weren't. Plus, they hadn't decided how to clean up the media fiasco and memories yet. Not that's there had been anyone to spare. We've only just got straight everyone in their positions between the pre-Voldemort ministry and post-Voldemort and the new Minister." Kinglsey shook his head, then continued.

"Anyway, I spoke to him, the new minster, and he wanted me to talk to you."

"To me?" she raised her eyebrows over her tea.

"You are a bright witch, Hermione. And everyone is aware you are muggle-born. You even took muggle studies at Hogwarts, didn't you? That and having, according to Harry Potter, been instrumental in defeating Voldemort qualifies you to run the muggle liaison operations. You'd be Secretary of Muggle Relations and your first job would be to sort out the Azkaban's prisoners. "

"I'm much too young for a job like that. I have no practical experience!"

"That's not what Harry says." Kingsley smiled. "Arthur and I have both written you recommendations. You'll be working alongside him and as I work directly for the minister now, that should be more than enough to get you the job. However, it may be a good idea to get a teacher from Hogwarts to write about your performance to accompany your test records. Harry might not be a bad idea either."

"I'll write to them today. Thank you Kingsley." She meant it. Ever since the end of the final battle, she had been struggling with what to do with herself. When Hogwarts decided she was finished and could not return, she was devastated. Honorary diploma or no, she still had so much to learn and there was only so much one could learn without a teacher! There had always been a front to be involved in-house elf liberation, the Order, the DA, being a spy. Now there was nothing. No goal. Of course, she was famous. She could get a job anywhere she applied, but where to apply? Diagon Alley? She had no experience or training to do anything substantial, though she did not want to be a barmaid.

She took a job, at last, in Flourish and Blotts, but the constant nagging with questions and pictures and autographs as time wore on had her hiding almost entirely behind the books. Now here before her Kinglsey had laid a purpose. A job worth doing, which catered to her skills. She had no business taking on something so important; it was daunting, but she also knew that she could help the muggles she had worried about and maybe continue the search for Draco.

Not long after she began, fixing a nameplate on her small office door, Arthur said there was someone there to see her. It was an elf she did not recognize.

"Have a seat, please. How can I help you?" she offered politely.

"My name is Pip, Miss." The creature squeaked. "Are you Miss Hermione Granger?"

"I am." She answered, cautious.

"Then this is yours." The elf handed her a small object, metallic, familiar. A lovely ring. She gasped.

"Draco! You've seen Draco?"

"I used to work in Malfoy Manor, Miss. Master Draco gave this to Pip when he freed us."

"Freed you?" she asked, bewildered.

"Yes, Miss. Just before the end of it all. Master Draco set us free and then some bad men hurt him, those nasty brothers, Miss, and we all were told to leave."

Hermione's eyes welled with tears she dared to fall. Sadness that Draco was probably dead. Pride that he freed and protected these elves.

"Thank you, Pip."

"You are most welcome, Miss." Then bashfully he added, "Master Draco says we could return when things were over if we wanted, and Pip would like to Miss, if that's alright."

"Oh Pip, I think, well Master Draco is…he's gone."

"Gone, Miss?"

"Well, we cannot seem to find him and if they had him then I'm afraid that, perhaps, he's d-dead."

"No, Miss! He can't be." The elf grabbed her hand to comfort her.

"I'm afraid so, Pip."

"No, Miss." He shook his head, big ears wagging. "Master Malfoy is our master. We would know if anything had happened, even once freed. We would feel it. And so would the ring, Miss!" He squeaked.

Two weeks later, she found herself before the Minister of Magic proposing their plan. Arthur stood at her side, proud but nervous.

"You're no doubt aware," the minister told her from behind a great oak desk, "that I am only allowing someone as young as you are to take on this position because you are obviously bright, because you are muggle born, and because you come so highly recommended."

"I am aware, Minister. I never expected such an opportunity and I am thrilled to have it."

"She's done a fantastic job, Minister." Mr. Weasley volunteered. The tall, slender woman in black acknowledged it with a nod, but her impassive face seemed unaffected.

"You realize that what you are asking will take months? Maybe longer. Cost a good deal of money. Be somewhat dangerous…"

"Minister, I do know," Hermione risked. "There are other solutions which may be more…efficient, but there is not one other avenue that would ensure justice. It is simply the only way to be thorough, and if we do not handle this correctly, the repercussions that will arise will be much more costly, though they may be a decade away."

The minister, her expression unmoved, considered this while pressing her fingertips together. "I shall give the order. You must organize everything. I want this to go smoothly and quickly as possible, no accidents."

Their sighs of relief and excitement were audible. The middle-aged woman attempted to keep the smile from her features as she silently held up a hand to be heard. "I will not beat around the bush, Ms. Granger, This is your big project. If things go terribly, you will likely lose your preliminary position here. However, should you handle this impressively, it will more than fix your standing." The thin and stoic face of Dahlia Battox expressed the significance behind her words subtlety but effectively.

"Thank you, Minister."

The work was draining. The most immediate business had been meeting with muggle leaders to establish what they could of a story to explain the attacks. Not an easy task by any means. Luckily, she was able to take care of that pesky business of removing both Sirius Black as well as herself and Draco from the list of wanted criminals.

The next months of her profession were monopolized by hearings. Each prisoner within Azkaban was being brought up before the court to determine the reason for their imprisonment. The task became daunting, then impossible.

With every long day and close inspection, she began to lose hope that she would find Draco. For if she did find him, what would she find?

On day forty-seven of inspections, Hermione began to allow herself out of the courtroom at five o'clock. The final interrogation was starting late and the poor retch seemed totaly lost. His dirty hair was the same grey brown they all were. His skin pale, almost translucent. His eyes were darting, angry and fearful. They looked more animal than human. She truly loathed that they used dementors for what they did to people.

She did not normally leave before the proceedings were finished, but the last one had been especially trying—a child murderer of Voldemort's attempting to trick them into giving them his freedom. Before that, an innocent muggle who could only beg them to find his wife, who was likely dead. His grief had been emotionally taxing.

She had agreed to meet Fred for dinner and she was tired of being late. If he could get off work on time while running his own successful business, with his brother of course, then she could be polite enough to not make him wait. Fred had pushed for her to start taking better care of herself. His brother, Fred explained, would want them to look after her. Later, he admitted that it more than that—he believed people needed to learn how to laugh again, hence their joke shop. And no one needed a laugh more than her, especially after such a hellish job. Today, she agreed with him.

At the opposite end of the room, she had to pass the prisoner to escape. She tried, as she always did, not to feel anything. It was becoming too easy. She was scarring herself.

But she hesitated. She looked. The man, completely bewildered with a dark mark exposed, was shaking. And something about him was familiar. Slowly, concentrating very hard she searched him and her memory. Then, she shook her head and continued on her way, heels tapping away on the stone floor.

Something ruffled the prisoner. She passed, mentally kicking herself, checking her watch. He was unable to answer them, twitching, murmuring. A little unnerved by his filthy and unstable appearance, she approached him, drawn closer by something she did not understand. He seemed to take note of her by his body language. She examined every pale, thin, inch of him. Dirty. Scared. Trembling. Bones sticking out like dragon ridges, black mark imprinted plainly on his forearm.

"Hermione?" Someone inquired, their voice drifting down to her as if from a great distance.

She felt a shiver down her spine and commanded herself to leave this time. For some reason she felt like running. She spun around. The others were murmuring amongst themselves about what to do with the man, ignoring him as he injured himself on restraints.

She really needed to leave.

She took just one step, to mend his wound, but something caught her ears. She got closer, sensing danger, only distantly hearing the inquisitive calls of her colleges, superiors, friends. She strained her ears to hear the prisoner's prayer, or his gibberish, that he kept repeating to himself, rocking backwards and forward. She recognized the rhythm, like a poem she knew. She tried to place it.

Grey eyes met hers and a spark of something shot through her so that she yelped and covered her mouth at once.

She ignored them all.

"Draco," she placed her hands on his bars, trying to catch his eye. "It—It's me." This sight, of all the corpses and mourning and wreckage and ruins she had witnessed, this was the most pathetic and repulsive thing she had yet seen. The man before her rocked backwards and forwards and placed his grimy face against hers and his bars, her breath stroking his cheeks; he calmed. He murmured almost like a human, "Hermione. Hermione. Hermione."

She sensed him coming closer to the surface, or a pale reflection of who he was once was. She heard him coming back in his voice. Nearer with each repetition, as if it were a train calling through a tunnel.

_A/N: This is one of my last chances to hear from you all and I want to know what each of you think! Review and the more who do, the sooner I'll post the conclusion to our story. What do you think is going to happen?_


	45. Shall We Shake Hands?

Chapter 45 lunch

_Dear readers, _

_Just to let you know, at its completion, this fanfiction is over 215,000 words—that's the equivalent of about 700 word document pages. I am proud to say we have both made it to the end._

_During that time, you have generously left me with over 1,190 reviews. 500 readers in 30 countries have added Stolen to their alert lists and over 300 name it as a favorite story. Twenty-four communities have honored it by including this story in their lists of bests. Creative readers have produced amazing fanart and banner for the story as well as nominated it for a contest. Out of curiosity, I googled it and found readers suggested it on yahoo answers and other sites. _

_I can honestly tell you I never anticipated such a response. I had never written romance before, fanfiction or original, and only wrote the first few chapters because I couldn't shake the idea. I had hoped to build a love story that was about real life and not fantasy, though it takes place in fantastical world. Through your patience with up-dates and mistakes, along with the power of your reviews and messages, this story has improved my writing as much as my degree has, especially writing the entire thing out of my comfort zone. Just compare the first chapter to your favorite—a total transformation._

_This could never have happened without you and I feel a little guilty knowing this can never be as fun for you as it was for me, but I hope it comes close. I must warn you, this may not be the ending you expected. As always, thanks for reading and please leave a review._

_Thank you and goodbye. _

Chapter 45: Shall We Shake Hands?

He did not blame her.

He knew now what he had been like during that time, though all he remembered was being down in dark carven, cold and damp, looking up towards a stream of distant light— hearing but not understanding the murmurs trickling down. And then, one voice he recognized...

"Draco."

He knew that he was fearful, disgusting, and dangerous. He was mad. He did not blame her for not taking him in, but rather sending him to St. Mungos where she faithfully visited.

He remembered few things from his recovery. He remembered her crying in pain when he grabbed her arm once. He remembered her crying in sympathy while he struggled to regain his health. He remembered her crying in desperation as she brought faces to him which he could not recognize, then in frustration as he failed to even feed himself properly, feasting instead like a ravenous beast. He remembered her crying in despair when the healer told her, "He may not get any better than this."

And so, in a way, these memories of his time there was more painful than his time in prison. For in that cold dark place his best and his worst memories tortured him but all of the tears were his own.

But he did not blame her for this, and that is why he had asked her to lunch— that and to give her the good news. He needed her to know that he was going to be fine now, his normal self, like it or not. She needed to know, she need to not feel bad for sending him away at first. That was his purpose in calling. He did not want to tell her all the horrible things he remembered. He did not want to tell he still sometimes fancied that he loved her. She had been through enough.

When the healers told her that may be mad forever, she took him away from St. Mungos, he gathered. She stayed with Harry in a big house in London. It had been difficult, he knew; he had been a burden, but he had begun to feel better. He had a loyal house elf Pip all too eager to cater all his needs. Harry and he played chess, and cards, and listened to quidditch games in the evening. Always in silence. Sometimes they had Lupin and his family over. Sometimes the Weasleys. Once Longbottom. He preferred the werewolf. Had he been well enough to realize Harry was babysitting him, or worse befriending him, he would have fought it. As it was, he was still too skittish to go outside, to fly with Harry, or even to go out into a public place like a restaurant. Sometimes he could not get warm. He would not leave his room unless asked or coaxed. He would not hold a wand. He was not himself, not even a whole other person.

One day, he ventured from the darkness of his room and found her immersed a library, a menagerie. Porthos laid across the hearth and she rest her small boots on his back. Beside her rest a tall, sturdy perch or iron and upon sat a pathetic looking creature. Skulking lazily about was that blasted cat. The room was filled with warmth from the fire and the familiar scent of baking and stew from downstairs. She had salvaged scraps of his life and scraps of him and brought them here.

He stared at her beauty a moment undisturbed, her golden hair and brown eyes glowing in firelight, before Pip passed him by with a squeak. "Excuse me, sir."

He was surprised to find he did not jump that time, but his presence startled her. Again, he opened his mouth to speak and found he did not know what to say. He only felt like he would weep. And suddenly the sound that was within him, consumed by joy yet conceived in sorrow, was in the room filling it.

They all turned, elf and bear even, to the familiar Irish Phoenix on the perch as it was singing, beautiful and grave. He choked a little, unable to match it. It was strangling him. Putting her book down gently, Hermione came towards him. She did not make a sound nor move too quickly. She reached out to him.

He remembered his mother and her death foretold by the wives tale of the song of that bird and felt that familiar panic, but with the close feeling of terror also flooded a rush sanity. Painful. Sudden. Like pulling out a splinter. Running. His father. Potter. Azkaban. And he was seeing all of it at once as a person, not as a madman through a darkness and a cold weight.

"It's just the rain." She had said.

She was cautious, seeing his eyes become his own again but not yet daring to believe. She took him to the window and unfastened it, flinging it open it. Seconds later, a deep rumble flew over the city and burst. Everywhere, filling his nostrils, was the gentle hushing sound of rain stinging pavement and leaves. The wind blew it into his face. It wet his skin.

Ironically, this remnant of his suffering brought back the memories he had clung to then. Memories of dishwashing and a shared bedroom and a dance. All his memories back, he was whole.

And he had her to thank for that. Even if they never spoke again.

But he did not blame her for that either. Who would not have moved on, as long as he was gone, as inhuman as he was when he finally returned? She had sent him to a muggle mental health institution, a very good one. He had made, he somewhat hated to admit it, substantial progress there. It was a relief to be away from it all, from magic even, for the time being. A bored Potter wrote to him as often as she did, maybe more. After Weasley's death, Draco had to tolerate the bloke's loneliness so long as he knew they were not friends. Now, the doctors told him the therapy and medicine had done all it could and he needed to go and ease back into a life. Simply as that. You left as a child who was engaged, now go be an adult by yourself. Sure. Easy.

But he was lucky, he knew, and he wanted to tell her that as well.

When he arrived before lunch, Diagon Alley was busy with people preparing for the festival. Everything was draped in green and white. He spotted her at an outdoor table on the balcony of a tearoom. She did not notice him approaching as she was preoccupied with scrutinizing and scribbling upon a piece of parchment. He entered, scaled the crooked stairs for which the place was named, and walked behind her with a slight mischievous grin, throwing the newspaper down before her. The report on today's anniversary celebration was overshadowed by another story.

"Have you seen the headlines? Depressing isn't it?" She glanced at it, then chortled a little at his hateful little speech. He read aloud: "'Hogwarts Youngest Seeker to Become Hogwarts Youngest Teacher—Harry Potter to Raise the Safest Generation as Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor.'

"Ol' Scarhead is taking up space for his worshiping party with news on his new job. Thank God he didn't take a piss recently, or the fools at the Daily Prophet would die with no way to fit it all on the front page." She just shook her head, smiling, not believing him for one minute and yet knowing Potter would have likely said the exact same thing.

"Anyway, they'll make loads of course." He sighed, sitting back in his chair and propping her feet up on the railing. "Everyone will want their children educated by the Boy-I-Killed."

She laughed aloud, sipping her tea as they brought his. The place was very busy.

"You look good." She said, examining him.

Her raised his eyebrows suggestively and ran his fingers through silky white hair, cut a little shorter than it once was but still falling around the edges of his face, the face a little thinner. It had more color though. She wrinkled her nose at his prideful display, rolled her eyes. He briefly noticed she had fastened her hair back with a ribbon, but it was escaping.

"I'm healed. That's the good news I have for you. They've released me and I'm staying in the hotel in London."

"Why aren't you staying with Harry and I?" Her eyes were wide, but her face happy.

"And encourage Potter's unhealthy obsession with me? Don't be silly." She squinted at him, waiting for the real answer. "No, I didn't want to impose. Three's a crowd and all."

"That's stupid." She proclaimed plainly. "The only reason I stayed was right after Ron died Harry didn't want to be alone. He still has the nightmare, you know? He can't even handle a boggart; it turns into Voldemort. And it's as if he's alive again. Standing there in his robes, just standing and smiling." She added with a chill in the warm summer air.

Draco examined her, then tossed his head back spitting, "Worthless Defense Against the Dark Arts Teacher."

"Well, maybe, but I didn't have anywhere else to go. Now it's just out of convenience. I haven't had the time to look at anywhere else really. Fred has, well, he's bought a place with room, but I told him I wasn't interested—"

At this he raised his eyebrows. Fred? Weasley? Good God, what did that say about her taste?

"But living with Harry can get tiresome." She admitted. "So much quidditch! And he leaves messes everywhere, but it's his house, so I can't complain." She sighed. Draco remained silent, brooding again, not trusting himself to speak. She leaned forward. He must have looked frightening again.

"Do you remember what happened before?" Her voice was dark and quiet.

"No," he lied. She nodded. He suspected she knew he was not being honest.

"Is it hard?" she asked, leaning forward further. "Being here? With all these people? Magic?"

"Not really." He shook his head. "Not anymore. Everything you did, Hermione, really helped. Thank you. After being away, it feels almost normal. I don't feel normal, but everything else does at least. What about you?" he asked over his cup, raising it to his lips.

She thought for a moment before answering.

"Sometimes I don't believe it. I walk around and I think I'm dreaming or I am dead. But then I do not care. I don't want to wake up.

"And other times," she frowned a bit, biting the inside of her mouth like she used to. "Other times I get angry." She admitted. "How is it possible to go back to what it was before? To open the same shops and eat the same dinners. To pretend none of it happened. It makes me…I want tear down their buildings and leave it ruined. Like it was. Like it was supposed to be."

He nodded in understanding and the watched the others in silence. They were observers on the outside of this excitement. Not part of anything. He broke the silence.

"The next step is to find somewhere to live, something to do. Get back to a normal life. Haven't ever had one of those before." He explained. "Not sure where to start. I don't even have a complete education."

"Yes you do." She eagerly informed him. "Hogwarts honored us all with graduation. They said we had earned it, which was true of course, but I think they wanted to move on as quickly as possible. Wanted us out."

"You miss it?"

"Of course."

He stared down at the ring his teacup had left. "Me too. Are you working then?"

"At the ministry."

"I thought so."

"Sorting out muggle relations, but to be honest sometimes I miss working in Flourish and Blotts. Maybe once things die down…but I suppose I can do more good where I am."

"Liberating houseelves?" he teased.

"That's rich coming from you. Pip found me. It's how I knew, or suspected, where to find you."

He did not know that and considered it strange. He turned it over and over in his mind.

"I've made sure your animals were safe, all of them." She said kindly. "And you should know that being the only Malfoy heir and not being written out of any wills- because they thought you were dead though you were in fact not- you've inherited everything. I don't think you'll need to work. And you'll certainly be able to rebuild."

This news left his eyes wide and his voice momentarily silent. A feeling of relief filled him like that right after being narrowly missed by a spell. A feeling, once commonplace, which he had not felt in a long time and may never feel again.

"Speechless?" she joked, sitting back with her cup rather haughtily.

"Did they—I mean, is Casus Malfoy's home alright?"

"Of course," she assured him and his body relaxed in a way it had not yet been able to. So the Malfoy fortune and lands and heritage were his to do with it what he pleased.

"That's something I've been meaning to discuss with you," she produced her papers. "I'm writing a book."

"A book? How do you find the time?" he asked, incredulous.

She blushed, but it did not seem to slow the stream of words pouring forth. "It's about Casus, since I did destroy the original record. I was thinking about how your fountain said 'the Mark Remains'."

His expression and voice equally dark, his hand fiddling with his teaspoon, he recited: "Undeservedly you shall atone for the sins of your fathers."

She gulped. "How did you?"

"I watched you. From the Eagle. It's enchanted. That's how they knew I was there."

"Yes, well it got me thinking about everything I learned from you…"

"Learned?" He interrupted. "Hogwart's greatest know-it-all _learn_? Let's hear it then."

She read to him from her parchment:

"_The actions of Tom Riddle, known as Voldemort, where of selfish motivations and sadistic desires which he used to incite hate and excitement in followers who shared his sick appetite or his supposed values. _

_But where does such a desire come from?_

_Voldemort was evil in taking advantage of the hate and turning wizard against wizard, but he was not responsible for creating it. Hate is born of pain. The hate of mixed bloods and muggle borns is not innate in most. It was created by cruelty that some families did not feel able to forget or forgive. _

_Neither cruelty done to muggle borns nor by muggles to magical people may be forgotten. If ever we forget how we came to this, we will surely find ourselves upon it again."_

His eyes feeling rather warm and wet, he nodded in approval and gratitude. Understanding, she put it away, smiling. She spied her watch. "I really have to go before things get too wild here. I have to go by work and straighten out a few things in our official statement on the conclusion of the interrogations."

"Well, I suppose this is where we wish each other luck." He said, a little bitterly, dropping his feet to the floor.

"Shall we shake hands?" She asked with an awkward joking tone as she stood across from him.

"Let's not." He stood and walked to her side. He could smell strawberries and vanilla in her hair. She touched his arm anyway.

"Alright. I know you're going to be fine Draco. Just fine."

"And you will be save the Wizarding World. Again." He sneered in jest, leaning against a column. "And I will build a big mansion, with a great moat, have dozens of slaves, and never eat a poor meal again. And it will incredibly boring after everything."

"Boring, but safe."

"I know. That's what I want for you. That's why I left." There. He said it. "I had to go back, but it didn't feel right dragging you along."

She touched his hand. "I'm so proud of you." He grimaced. Those weren't the words he wanted to hear, and those watering eyes embarrassed him. She wiped them clean, releasing him. He flexed his hand, missing her touch.

"I really have to go." She stood, spying the time. "I'm supposed to be there already—" She collected her things.

It was happening. She was leaving, and she would be busy and successful and flattered by men. And she would have less and less time for him, and then someone would sweep her off her feet. Probably some muggle at that. Then the only time he'd see her would be sitting at her wedding, alone. Save maybe Potter sitting next to him.

"Hermione!" He called after her over babbling children. He had to speak. He had to tell her all the things he'd brought her here for. He had to let her know before he never saw her again. He had to make sure this was not the last time, and stuttering dumbly, he asked: "I was wondering, I mean if you're not busy, maybe you would like to marry me sometime or something."

That. Was not. What he meant to say. Not all.

She was looking at him with the most unusual look—was it indignation, outrage, or absolute befuddlement? Regardless, she was apparently entirely taken aback by his complete idiocy and so was he. Then—God help him—her eyes were watering. He was making her cry. He would surely never win her back now. Damn his loopy brain and fumbling mouth! _'Quickly make an excuse,'_ he mentally yelled at himself.

Her mouth twisting slightly, she spoke. "Well," she sighed and replied but he could not hear her as a parade of colors and brass instruments and drums neared them.

"What?" he called to her wildly over the table.

She was laughing, laughing at him. But he was certain she looked as though she were crying too. She shook her head. Well why wouldn't she? What had he done, after all, but leave her? It was a lie anyway, for them to be engaged. She probably had a boyfriend by now. Not as rich or good looking as he, he hazarded a jealous guess.

"It's not like I have anything better to do!" She shouted over the commotion, giggling so that every inch of her small, perfect frame was quivering. What a snarky response.

In that moment, he did not regret a damn thing that had happened. How could he? This was so much better. There is in the world, he realized, a possibility for as much good to happen as un-expectantly as all the tragedy. As terrible as suffering may be, as hopeless as it may seem, one has to remember that there is always the possibility for it to be equally as good. One just has to wait. One just has to say yes—or, 'sure- I've not got anything better to do', in this case. Before they could grab each other fiercely and kiss properly, a ruckus of excited merrymakers crashed into the table. Draco's lap was filled with butterbeer and fumed.

A snort jerked him from his rage. Hermione was laughing hysterically, eyes sparkling and hair sparkling as well filled with confetti spread around her like a fan of peacock's feathers. He laughed at her in turn, really laughed, until his ribs ached. A little annoyed, she cast a drying charm on his pants.

He really thought he ought to thank them for disturbing them. First, because it had been a long time since he'd seen something as funny as Hermione with her hair filled with confetti and second because the table was no longer between them. Ignoring the roar of the celebrating crowd and blaring music, they finally met. Their bodies pressed together, then their lips. His mind was pleasantly numb, as if he'd has some firewhiskey and there was a sharp heat between them. A bright light flashed, blinding them. He almost bit his tongue, or hers—he was not quite sure.

Rita Skeeter. His profanities went unheard by the gaggles of children and families nearby due to all the noise. Everyone remained jovial, save Hermione who covered her mouth in horror.

Nonetheless, they would later cut out the front-page picture from the festival and kept it, minus the hideous cupid and ridiculous hearts of course. They framed the picture, one that had become rather famous, of them kissing amidst the crowd he had not noticed as they screamed with approval and applauded. Confetti flying wildly around them, standing in beer. They had an unspoken agreement to keep in the headline. Not exactly their cup of tea, but it was true enough. And it said something about their victory.

"_This charming young couple,"_ the article read _"met before the return of Tom Riddle while they were in school at Hogwarts. They announced their engagement nearly two years ago. War drove them apart and put off their nuptials. Now, re-formed Death Eater Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter's friend and ministry official Hermione Granger (muggle born) represent the new day that has dawned for the Wizarding World. They symbolize an important message: all we fought for, all we have to gain, and –most importantly—that love survives all!"_

It did not conquer, really, Draco felt. It was more a constant and quiet thing; love did not like it, but it bore lust, separation, betrayal, anger, and death. It weakened at times. It definitely changed. In the end, love had _just_ survived. And that was enough.


End file.
